Dragonfire
by Ronin-ai
Summary: In a remote part of Centra, at the site of a recent, devastating battle, a young boy finds a mysterious, badly injured man. He alerts his mother who, along with the local doctor, save the man's life and nurse him back to health. But as a result of his injuries, he has no memory of who he is. Meanwhile, Squall Leonhart, SeeD commander, has disappeared while on assignment...
1. Part I: Shattered Knight

_DRAGONFIRE_

_Part I: Shattered Knight_

The boy picked his way cautiously though the blackened and broken debris. He was getting closer to the battle site. His mother had warned him to stay away, but curiosity drove him. He'd heard the thunder in the night; had seen the lightning and had felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. It had sounded like a storm, just as his mother had insisted it was, and he'd nearly believed her. Until he'd seen the dragon.

He didn't even know what he was doing out there, what he was looking for, really. He just wanted to see what such a titanic battle had left behind. Romantic notions of a bold knight battling that dragon filled his mind and he wondered if he'd get to see the actual dragon up close, slain by the knight. He wondered how big it was, and how sharp its teeth were. It didn't occur to him that he might see the _knight_ slain instead.

He wandered farther into the battlefield, gazing in awe at the sheer destruction left behind. He had to detour carefully around great, tumbled chunks of rock and earth, chasms, craters, and fissures, some still smoking; broken, shattered and charred trees, and everywhere, _everywhere_, the acrid stench of burning and eye-watering, choking smoke. The dragon _had_ to have been real, not his imagination like his mother had insisted; nothing else would leave everything so burned and blackened.

The smoke made it hard to see, and the boy had to slow his advance as the footing had gotten treacherous. So it was understandable that at first, he could not differentiate the twisted forms that littered the ground from the charred, skeletal trees. It wasn't until he stumbled over one that he realized in sick horror that they were bodies.

_Human_ bodies. Soldiers, by their appearance; dozens of them, scattered everywhere.

Stomach churning, he continued onward, the scattered bodies becoming more numerous as he approached what must have been the center of the battle. The epicenter of whatever event had left everything charred and smoking. He didn't recall actually _seeing_ the dragon belching fire; all he remembered was a brilliant flash of what had looked like lightning. There might not even have been a dragon. It might have been like his mother had said: just the remnants of a dream getting confused with what he'd seen in the middle of the night, his sleep-mazed mind trying to make sense of the insensible.

The stench of burned flesh grew stronger, reminding the boy sickeningly of a roast his mother had burned once. He nearly threw up and stopped, eyes watering, beginning to feel both nauseous and a little scared. Wondering if he should go back home. He stumbled forward, blinking his streaming eyes, and gazed around, looking for the way back to the pathway he'd taken in.

He stopped, realizing he'd finally reached the center of the swath of destruction he'd been traversing. He turned around, gazing outward, seeing now the pattern that radiated from this focal point. A gust of wind blew the smoke away briefly, clearing his vision enough that he saw the body that lay there. Another dead man, only _this_ one wasn't burnt to ash.

The man lay prone, face turned to the side, one arm outstretched, with his hand still grasping the handle of a strange, swordlike weapon. He was covered in blood; it soaked the ground beneath him as well as his clothing, which bore great rents as though he'd been savaged by a wild beast. It also crusted a nasty wound on the man's temple and trickled down his white face.

The wind keened suddenly, and the boy shivered, hearing voices within it. Perhaps it was his mother, looking for him. She'd be upset that he'd wandered into this place and seen such carnage; upset enough perhaps to warm his bottom. He didn't like that thought. He _should_ go back. But the weapon that the man still held had captured the boy's imagination.

He'd never seen anything like it. It was both sword and gun, and while dirty and crusted with blood, was still beautiful. Where it wasn't darkened and smeared with gore, the blade was a glowing sky blue. It swept gracefully from the point back to the gun part of the weapon, which was cunningly fashioned from silver, polished steel and blackwood, incorporating the motif of a winged lion into its design. At the very end of the handle, next to the man's head, was a small charm of a roaring lion's head, attached to it by a chain, the whole of it also in silver.

"Wow…" the boy whispered. It was a knight's weapon. It _had_ to be. Only, the dead man wasn't wearing any armor. Of course, it was modern times now. Maybe knights didn't _need_ to wear armor anymore.

Greatly daring, he walked right up to the dead knight and knelt down, wanting to take a closer look at his blade. The wind moaned softly, and the distant voice the boy had thought he'd heard became more distinct. And more worrisome; it _was_ his mother, looking for him. He looked around, wondering how close she was, how much time he had to examine the beautiful artifact. This contributed to his haste and made him incautious; in reaching for the handle of the blade, he grasped the man's hand instead.

He jumped back, heart in his throat, and stared, eyes wide. The hand had been _warm_. Not cold and rigid, as he'd heard corpses usually were, but warm and pliant. He sat frozen, watching the man closely, wondering now if he was actually dead, or if he'd simply died more recently than last night.

The wind moaned again… a quiet, whispering moan, filled with pain. No. _Not_ the wind…but the man lying in front of him. The boy swallowed convulsively, wondering what to do. The man was dying, that was obvious. But that knowledge left the boy scared and confused…he didn't want the man to die… _did_ he? No. He was a knight and if he lived, if the boy helped him…maybe the knight would be his friend?

"Teran! Teran where are you?" His mother's voice, coming closer.

Teran leaped to his feet suddenly. Maybe his mother could help this knight and stop him from dying.

"Mom! Mom I'm over here! Hurry!" he called, and was rewarded by his mother's quick appearance, anger darkening her eyes.

"Teran! What are you doing here? I told you to stay away from this place! You shouldn't be here, it's not safe!" she said angrily, fear plain in her eyes.

She started in surprise as her son grabbed her hand and dragged her forward, "Mom! There's no time for that! Look!" she gasped at the sight of the bloodied form at her feet.

"Teran! What…"

"He's not dead mom!" Teran said urgently, asking, "Can you help him?"

She frowned at the man's appearance; then knelt down next to him and placed a practiced finger beneath his jaw at the side of his neck, saying softly, "Ter honey, I don't know if I can…"

"Please? Can you try?" Teran asked, pleading. His mother gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he was so interested, and then looked down at the injured man. Her fingers _had_ detected a heartbeat, but it was weak. In all likelihood, the man would perish before much could be done for him. Still…what kind of person would she show herself to be, if she simply left him to die alone on the cold ground? Alone, with no one to hold his hand…

"I'll try, but you need to help me." She told her son seriously.

"What do I need to do?" He asked.

"Run as fast as you can to get Doc."

* * *

Maiere Collen blinked her blurring eyes, rubbing at them in an attempt to wipe away the fatigue that had left them burning. Focusing on the still form that lay in her guest room's bed, she felt a brief stab of panic until she saw his chest rise as he drew in another breath. Slow, shallow, but….regular.

Neither she nor Doc thought that the man would make it through the night, so Maiere held vigil by the stranger's bedside, holding his limp hand, determined that he should not pass alone and uncomforted. Not like Brend had.

Memories of her twin brother's death made her heart ache, and she pushed them away even as she acknowledged to herself at least, that it was for _his_ sake that she was watching over a dying stranger.

She studied the hand that she held, running her finger over the silver ring that adorned the third finger. It was beautifully carved into the likeness of a roaring winged lion, much like the etching on his swordlike weapon, and nearly a twin to the silver pendant that he wore. The fingers were long, tapered, and well-formed but strong, the hand callused. He'd used his weapon a lot.

There was no identification on him, no clue as to his identity. No name, nothing. When…_if_ he died, she would have no idea whom to notify. The ring on his finger offered a hint that he did indeed have a family. A wife at least, if not children as well. Someone out there was missing him. Looking for him. She sighed, suddenly hoping that he would survive and be able to make his way back to them himself.

She couldn't help but wonder about him. Who he was, what part he'd played in the battle from the night before, which had come far too close to their little community of Haverhill for comfort. As dawn approached, her curiosity became more personal; what his wife was like, if he had children…if he was even still married.

Even battered and unconscious, he was very handsome, with finely drawn, chiseled features; easier to look at, now that the blood had been washed away. A bandage around his head partially obscured a scar that ran diagonally between his eyes, starting above his right eyebrow, running over the bridge of his nose and terminating below his left eye. Whatever had given him that scar, if it had struck him even an inch in either direction, he would have lost an eye. In this, he had been fortunate. It didn't mar his appearance to any great extent, though it did raise questions and give him a slightly dangerous look, even in his currently helpless, insensible state.

"You're an idiot, Maiere," she murmured to herself. Lost puppy syndrome, that's what it was. Teran was always bringing home wounded or lost animals, and Maiere had done her best to patch them up. Sometimes it worked and the critter was set free or a home found for it. Sometimes it didn't. So on that level, it wasn't surprising that her son would want her to try and save _this_ wounded creature also.

But on another level, it left her wondering exactly _why_ her son had been so insistent. Her tired mind went round and round with it, drawing the conclusion that she had somehow managed to raise an unusually compassionate child. It did worry her a bit, if this man did in fact succumb to his injuries, how Teran would take it.

The sound of movement in the house, corresponding to a lightening at the edges of the bedroom's curtains, told Maiere that dawn was at hand. And the stranger was still breathing. Doc would be coming over soon to check on his patient, and Teran was likely already awake and ready for breakfast.

This supposition was borne out when the bedroom's door opened and her pajama-clad son entered, peered interestedly at the patient, then came up to Maiere and climbed up into her lap, snuggling against her. Maiere smiled to herself. Teran was always cuddly, first thing in the morning.

"Good morning mama," he whispered.

"Good morning baby. What did you want for breakfast?" she asked him quietly.

"I like eggs. And toast." He answered, then asked, "Can I have coffee?"

"Not yet, sprout. Milk or orange juice for you." Maiere answered.

"Awww." Teran sounded only slightly disappointed at this. Turning his head, he focused his attention on the man he'd found. "He's still sleeping."

"Yes," Maiere answered. The man's hand was still warm in hers. A good sign, actually. Had it gone cold or clammy, she would have called Doc. Thus far, they'd managed to prevent shock from taking too firm a hold on him. Blood loss however, and that head injury… Well, they'd done what they could.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" Teran asked her.

"I don't know Ter. He's hurt pretty badly."

The boy appeared to consider this, then asked, "_Will_ he wake up?"

"I don't know baby. Doc and I are doing everything we can." Maiere answered, then asked him, "why?"

"He needs to wake up and fight the dragon again. So he can beat it this time." Teran answered her seriously.

"What are you talking about Teran?" Maiere asked him, startled by her son's statement.

"It woke me up last night. Their fight. I saw a dragon when I looked out the window, so I went out to where the battle was, because I wanted to see what had happened, and I found him. I think he's a knight, and he was fighting the dragon and lost. We need to make him better so he can fight it again and win this time." Teran answered.

Maiere thinned her lips briefly. She'd known about the battle, and had not wanted Teran anywhere near there. It had been far too close for comfort, and she had no idea if the area was even safe to venture into. Apparently, judging by the carnage left behind, whatever enemies that may have survived had fled long since. She hoped, anyway.

"How come you're holding his hand mom?" Teran asked curiously.

"Remember when you got really sick?" Maiere asked him. "I held your hand so you wouldn't feel scared or lonely, remember?"

"Yeah. So, you're holding his hand so he won't be scared or feel lonely? Like you did me?" Teran asked her seriously. She nodded in response, and he said, "Good. He'll get better then."

"Why do you say that?" Maiere asked him.

" 'Cause I did." Teran answered simply.

Maiere wished she had his confidence. The boy squirmed, wanting to be off to do something else, and she loosened her encircling arm, allowing him to slide off her lap. He moved closer to the bed briefly and peered at the man, watching him for a minute. Then he touched the hand that Maiere held, resting his own small hand atop it before turning and heading toward the door.

Pausing, he looked back and asked, "When are you gonna cook breakfast?"

"When Doc gets here. He'll stay with our guest for a bit so he won't be alone." Maiere reassured the boy.

"Okay," Teran said, and left the room. Moments later, she heard the door to the hall bathroom open and close.

Doc arrived shortly afterward, followed by an anxious and interested Teran. Maiere smiled at her son, now scrubbed clean and dressed, wondering if his interest in Veterinary medicine would now change to human medicine.

Maiere got up and made room for the doctor, who checked over their patient, changing out the IV fluids and giving her an update on his prognosis.

"Well, he survived the night. That's a good thing. I honestly didn't think that he would. He's a tough young man." Doc said, adding, "He's still in pretty rough shape though. Multiple lacerations, including a deep, through and through stab wound below his right clavicle, like he was speared. Lucky for him, it missed the subclavian artery and the upper lobe of his lung. He's got three broken ribs, his left leg is broken, just above the ankle, and his right shoulder is dislocated. He's lost a lot of blood, and it's just dumb luck that I had enough O negative on hand. Took all that I had though. We'll have to do another blood drive to replace our supply; Deling City's too far and it takes too long to get anything from the blood banks there. The O neg will do in a pinch but this fella's _actual_ blood type is really rare: AB. If he ends up needing surgery or if he reacts adversely to the O negative, we'll be in trouble. His blood pressure's holding pretty well though, and his breathing's pretty steady, so I guess he hasn't punctured a lung or damaged anything internally. My biggest worry is that head injury." The doctor peered into the patient's face with a frown, and peeled first one and then the other eyelid up, shining a penlight into each eye in turn. He shook his head in concern, muttering under his breath.

"What did you say Doc?" Maiere asked.

"He needs a scan. I don't have the equipment here to do it and just can't tell what kind of damage he's sustained. He _has_ been brain-damaged, that much is clear; how severely remains to be seen. The fact is Maiere; he might not even wake up. Have you found anything that might give us a clue of who he is or who we can call?" the doctor asked her.

She shook her head, "nothing. The only thing he has on him is his jewelry. A ring…it might be a wedding ring…the pendant, an earring, and… _that_." She indicated the large blade, still crusted and dirty, that she had leaned carefully against the wall in the far corner of the bedroom. She didn't even know why she'd brought it, though Teran had insisted that the "knight", as he referred to the injured man, would want it.

"Hmmm. Take some pictures of it, and the jewelry. And him, once we can get him a little more presentable. I'll have Sherriff Marres come by and get some fingerprints too. If he's married or has any family, they're probably looking for him." The doctor shook his head again, commenting, "Looks awful young though, to have a wife. Looks like he's barely out of his teens."

That piqued Teran's interest. Up until that point, he'd been trying to follow the discussion Doc was having with his mom, but couldn't follow _all_ of it. Some of it, he simply didn't understand, particularly when Doc used what he called "doctor words". Some of it scared him and made him a little sad, thinking that the knight wouldn't wake up at all.

Finally, he spoke up, asking, "Can I help?" Looking from the doctor to his mother, he continued, "Maybe I can hold his hand, like mama did me? It made _me_ feel better, when I got sick."

Maiere and the doctor exchanged a look, and the doctor smiled down at the boy, saying, "I think that's a fine idea. If you help your mother with that, I think it'll do this young man a world of good."

"Okay," Teran nodded, satisfied.

The doctor glanced over at Maiere, and said, "I know you've been waiting breakfast on me. Go ahead and take care of it; I'll sit here with this young man awhile. Just bring me up some toast and coffee when you get a chance."

"All right. Thanks Doc."

"You're welcome, Maiere." He nodded at them both and took the seat that Maiere had vacated, picking up the limp hand and placing his fingers on the wrist. The pulse beat steadily, and felt just a bit stronger than it had the night before. Several pints of whole blood and plasma had undoubtedly contributed to that.

For a small town family doctor, he did all right with what he had to hand, but this young man's catastrophic injuries had nearly wiped out his supplies. He was going to have to take a trip to the next largest town, maybe even as far as Deling City, to replace them. Perhaps he'd take the young man with him, if he was stable enough for the trip. Then he shook his head. They'd need an ambulance and attendants to move him to a trauma center. Ideally, he should be airlifted out; the road was much too rough and while he was stable for the moment, a long trip over rough roads would do him far more harm than good. Still, perhaps when he went, he'd take whatever information on this man that they could gather and give it to the authorities there. Maybe he'd already been reported missing.

If he'd had any means of getting the man to an actual trauma center when Maiere and her son had fetched him, Doctor Marlow would have preferred doing so. But the trip was a long and arduous one, and the patient's condition was too precarious to chance moving him further. So they'd installed him in Maiere's guest bedroom and he'd done what he could for his patient and hoped for the best.

It could still go either way for this nameless young man, Marlow reminded himself. He'd managed to pull through the night, so had withstood the threat of shock and blood loss, but there still was the unknown quantity of his head injury and the possibility of infection. Marlow had antibiotics, but wasn't sure he had enough, should the patient's wounds go septic.

One thing that he'd noticed about his patient was the scars on his body; there were more than a few, and they hinted at similar injuries to the ones that he bore, sometime in his past. He was lean, muscular and fit, and his hands were callused. The doctor's attention strayed to the weapon in the corner of the bedroom.

He was a fighter. Soldier or mercenary, it didn't really matter which. That breed had a toughness borne both of training and sheer bloody-mindedness that would often win them through impossibilities. Perhaps this young man could use that to win through this as well. Only time would tell.

* * *

He drifted in a black void that was both familiar and frightening to him. Something had driven him here, to this dark emptiness. Monsters lived in the void, but they too seemed both familiar and alien all at once. He had retreated to this place, seeking numbness, seeking nothingness, seeking escape…. but the pain that had driven him there had followed him. He tried to outrun it, and grew tired from the running, but there was no escape….save one, and that way was barred to him. It promised him rest and release, but the monsters in the void, the voices that spoke to him, held him back from passing through that gateway.

The monsters, the voices, they had names, and seemed familiar to him, but he could not recall them. His confusion and pain distressed them; they tried to calm him before he withdrew further into the void to escape the voices, the pain, and the unclear, frightening nightmares.

The monsters did not follow, but their sorrow did. Instead, they seemed to draw together and the voices calling to him quieted. The pain was still there, but dimmed, and the muddle in his mind was held at bay by the entities that shared the void with him.

_We are Guardians. _The strongest of the voices told him, before withdrawing again.

He seized upon the small measure of peace that the momentary calm afforded him, and sank gratefully into it.

It was brief however. The Guardians did their best to drive away his nightmares, but there was no escape from the images: He was a frightened child, lost and alone, looking for…someone. He was a young man, wearing some kind of uniform and holding a weapon, running from something. Running for his life, fear making his heart race as whatever it was clanked and whined and breathed hot fumes down his neck.

He was dancing, heart racing for a different reason as he took the hand of a slender young woman. Or perhaps she took his; he couldn't recall clearly, and that alarmed him to the very core of his soul. He tried desperately to see her face but it was blank, blurred….gone. In every appearance in his memory she was faceless, fading. But she appeared in frequent flashes; a swirl of frothy white lace…a wedding gown? Running at his side, wearing blue, and firing a projectile at something. The only thing he could be sure of about her was that her hair was black and her skin, pale. And that somehow, she was important to him.

The image that lingered the longest was of this young woman walking in a sunlit field of flowers, translucent white wings spreading wide from her shoulders…and understanding dawned. She was an angel, come to lead him through that final door. He tried to speak to her, to follow where she led, but she faded away. He felt her loss keenly.

Always, there were voices; sometimes muted, sometimes strident, echoing throughout the darkness and the pain, ebbing and surging like a sea of blood, pounding in his head, throbbing in his bones. Aching all over. He felt lost, helpless, and it added to his confusion and his fear. Would he be lost in this emptiness forever? He felt as though he'd already been there for eternity, and that thought brought with it despair. He found a dark, quiet corner within himself, curled up into a ball, and began to cry.

_Where am I? Help me… _

Exhaustion took him and his consciousness faded. Perhaps he slept. In this place, it was impossible to tell. Something furred, feathered and purring wrapped itself around him and offered comfort. He sank into it and the sweet oblivion that followed gratefully.

Gradually, the pain faded to a dull ache. The nightmares still plagued him, but his…Guardians… protected him from the worst of them. Something, or _someone_… from far off still called to him but he could not answer. He had slowly become aware of the fact that he had been injured somehow, which accounted for his current state. He thought perhaps that he should try to wake, but a type of inertia held him back from that.

His Guardians though, were encouraging him to attempt wading from the darkness where he floated.

_Do not fear, _they told him. _ We will protect you. You will be safe with us;_ _nothing can harm you here. _

He wasn't sure about that, as the nightmares converged upon him, but the monsters in his head fended them off. He couldn't see them clearly, but got nebulous impressions of them: one seemed vaguely feline, while another 'felt' reptilian. There were others, one that felt cool and feminine, and the other….was hard to define as anything but an impression of great age and power.

The voices he'd been hearing grew more distinct, though he still could not make them out clearly. His Guardians reassured him that it was needful that he hear them. The nothingness of the void, while frightening in its emptiness, had offered a small measure of peace and a haven from pain and confusion, so he wasn't entirely willing to leave, but his Guardians were insistent upon it.

_You cannot stay in this place. If you do, you will be lost forever. _ He looked at the speaker and finally saw it, starting in shock at its appearance. It was both terrible and beautiful, this creature. It gazed at him with glowing, ice-blue eyes set in a purple-furred, catlike face framed by a luxurious mane of silvery white.

_Lion. You look like a lion. _He thought, and the creature bowed its head with great dignity.

_It is the image that your mind has given me. I am what you have created. _

That statement puzzled him deeply, but he could not examine it, for his Guardians were urging him onward. They led him to a place that wasn't quite as dark and remote as the place where he'd been hiding, and the lion-Guardian settled down next to him, folding its wide, white-feathered wings tightly against its back.

_Do not fear, Master._ It said, nudging him gently with its muzzle, a very feline gesture that offered comfort. _ We will be with you. _

He was grateful for the lion-creature's support. He needed it, for the agony and the nightmares that it brought became more distinct, and more immediate. He cried out and pressed himself into the Guardian's soft-furred side. A dizzying array of images assaulted him, and most of them were violent and bloody, edged about with pain. Some weren't, and those he wanted to hold on to… the feel, and taste and scent of a woman in his arms, the bubbling laughter of a child.

_Mine? _He wondered.

_Yes,_ the Guardian answered.

_Why can't I see their faces? _He asked, fear settling like a cold stone into the pit of his stomach. The creature did not answer.

Instead, it said, _rest, Master. We will guard you. _

He did as directed, and as time passed, the confusion ebbed, as did the pain. He became aware of things dimly; his body, lying in a bed. A hand holding his. Voices, whispering from somewhere outside the void. His Guardian nudged him forward.

_You must hear them. Your mind has calmed, and you must wake. _

_Have I been sleeping, all this time? _He asked.

_Yes. _Came the answer.

_How long? _He wondered.

_I do not know. _The Guardian answered.

That explained the nightmares at least. He sensed the Guardian's withdrawal, but still felt its presence. The others were there too, always had been, but the lion-like creature appeared to have been the one in charge. It had taken charge of _him_, at any rate.

Awareness returned gradually. Pain was first; it had never really left him, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. He still ached, but now he knew the source of it; his leg, his ribs, his shoulder, and his head, all throbbed. Hearing came next, and the voices that had pursued him in his confused, jumbled nightmares now whispered in his ears. They were unfamiliar to him, but they offered comfort, so he took what they offered. He drifted still, but in a different place; this was a grey, in-between place…a place that did not hold him nearly as tightly as the void.

"_Is he gonna wake today mama?" a child's voice whispered._

"_I don't know baby. Doc says he might. He's been showing signs of it." A woman's voice answered. _

"_What kind of signs?" the child asked, curiously._

"_Well, watch him. See how his eyes are moving under his eyelids like that?"_

"_Yeah," the child answered, adding, "I think I felt him twitch too."_

"_That's actually a good sign. It means he's dreaming. It also means that he might be trying to wake up." _

"_Oh," the child said. _

_Elaborating further, the woman whispered, "Doc says if we keep talking to him, and doing our best to let him know we're here…"_

"_You mean like when I read my stories to him?" the child asked._

"_Yes. Doc thinks that will help him wake up." _

The thought of this unknown woman and child talking about him like that, bothered him. He couldn't pinpoint _why_, exactly, but he didn't like it. But it wasn't as easy as he'd thought to actually open his eyes.

Well, start small then. Someone was holding his hand, the woman, he thought. He willed himself to squeeze her hand. The result was disappointing, more a twitch than a squeeze, and had taken a great deal of effort, but a gasp at his bedside told him that it had been noticed.

"He just twitched Teran!" Maiere whispered. Leaning forward, she squeezed her patient's hand and caressed the back of it, saying urgently, "come on, mister. Wake up! I'd love to finally know who it is I've been taking care of all this time."

He took a deep breath, then hesitated at a sharp pain in his side, grunting softly in reaction to it. The woman squeezed his hand again, the contact warm, firm, and supportive. He focused upon it and used it to pull himself up out of the darkness. He tried to squeeze back and was better at it this time, but Gods, he was so weak!

Concentrating again, he tried to open his heavy eyelids. It was hard; it felt like they weighed a ton, but finally he managed to open his eyes. His vision was blurred, and he blinked, trying to clear it. When it did, he was startled to see a young boy, peering eagerly into his face. Had he not been so weak, he'd have flinched back in reaction. As it was, the child's proximity was extremely disconcerting, particularly in his currently enfeebled state.

"Teran, move back a bit, honey. Give him some room." Maiere said softly, not missing the flash of panic in the stranger's eyes at Teran's eager interest. He moved his head slowly to look at her, and Maiere got a startling glimpse of his beautiful ice-blue eyes before he made a small sound and closed them, face contorted in pain.

"Oh, dear. Still hurts, huh? Well, I think it's safe to give you something for the pain." Maiere said, and was rewarded by another glance from him, this one undeniably grateful.

Maiere stood, went over to the IV and adjusted the drip, adding the pain medication that Doc Marlow had given her to use. Just enough to take the edge off, not enough to put him back under again. Her patient's eyes blinked slowly, drowsily, as the medication took effect, then closed as he went back to sleep. _Real_ sleep, this time.

He sank into it easily, and curled up next to his Guardian, comforted by its soft, purring warmth.

_You will wake again tomorrow. _It reassured him gently. _You will heal. _A deep sense of joy from the creature followed that statement.

* * *

It was easier the next time he woke. His head still ached fiercely, as did various other parts of his body. Obviously, he'd been pretty seriously injured doing….something. What though, he could not recall, and this bothered him. He tried moving, carefully, not liking at all how weak he felt.

Moving his head slowly, mindful of its tender state, he tried to look around to see where he was. Upon doing so, he discovered he was in a bedroom, rather than a hospital room, which he found rather odd. Glancing to the side, he saw the IV stand and fluids, the tubing terminating into the back of his right hand. He tried lifting it and pain shot down his arm from the shoulder. He left it lying across his stomach.

Fresh air wafted through an open window next to his bed, ruffling the lightweight, cream-colored draperies. A warm gold and cream color scheme in the wallpaper complemented the curtains. Next to the bed, moved slightly to accommodate the IV stand, was a nightstand with an array of medical appearing items on it, which contrasted oddly with the very homey looking lamp that sat in the center of it. In the corner of the room, beyond the night table, leaned something very odd indeed. A weapon.

He studied it, disturbed at its filth-encrusted state. His memory moved sluggishly, and caused his head to throb, but it identified the type of weapon it was. It was a gunblade…_his_ gunblade. There was more, he knew, but his head was pounding and he couldn't think anymore. He closed his eyes and swallowed, conscious of how dry his mouth was, and…moving his left hand over his ribs, and wincing at the pain…how thin he was.

The pain was getting worse, not only in his head, but other parts of his body; his left leg, his ribs, his shoulder…all setting up a cacophony of agony that had him hoping that the woman would reappear soon to remedy that.

She did, and smiled sympathetically at the look of undisguised relief that he greeted her with.

"Hurting again?" She asked. He hesitated a second, then nodded slowly. She frowned slightly at this. Granted, he'd only been awake for a short time, but she'd thought it long enough for him to have said _something_ by now. He hadn't spoken a word yet on any of the admittedly few and still rather brief moments that he'd been awake. Perhaps he was unable to; aphasia was a common sign of brain injury.

"Well, the doctor will be in soon. He wanted to check on you and was interested in speaking with you if you happened to be awake." _ If you are able to speak, that is… _she thought privately. He sighed at this, and Maiere smiled sympathetically.

"I know, but the medication puts you out, and it's kind of important that we…talk… to you before we give you some. Just hang in there, Dr. Marlow will be here soon." Maiere told him soothingly.

He nodded slightly, and gazed around the room again, shifting uncomfortably, visibly in pain. Maiere studied him closely, while he was awake and alert, watching his responses, his expressions. Feeling more than a little heartened by the bright intelligence that she could see in his eyes.

Dr. Marlow arrived shortly after that, giving his patient a long, considering look before asking Maiere, "So, he's awake. How's he doing? Has he said anything?"

"No, not a word. He's still pretty obviously in pain. He seems alert though, and…." She hesitated, searching for the right words, finally saying, "lucid? No, that's not quite right…um… _there_, I guess?"

"Hmm." The doctor said, approaching the man's bed and confirming, "You can hear me and understand me?" his patient nodded, slowly, eyes fixed on the doctor. "You obviously can see me." Another nod. "Can you speak?"

The young man licked his lips, glancing at Maiere, then the doctor, and clearing his throat. He tried; he opened his mouth and then frowned. Then he groaned as pain suddenly speared through his cranium, squeezing his eyes shut and collapsing against his pillow, putting his left hand up to his bandaged temple. He gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through it, but a band of pain across his chest prevented him from taking deep breaths. He curled his left hand into a tight fist and did his best to endure the pain, and the nausea that it had brought on.

"Not yet, huh?" the doctor asked kindly. His patient shook his head slightly, face twisted in agony. "Well, you've had a pretty serious head injury. Obviously, not _too_ serious, as you are in fact awake and alert. But serious enough. You've been unconscious for well over a week, long enough that we worried about you ever waking up. There is undoubtedly some brain damage, which likely accounts for your inability to speak at the moment. It may be temporary, it may be permanent. The extent of your brain injury is impossible for me to tell as I haven't got the equipment to do a proper scan. There are some tests that I can do however, now that you're awake and apparently alert enough to hear and understand me, which will help us both to figure out what other kinds of effects, if any, your head injury has had. I know you're hurting right now, but if you'll help me out with this, I can give you some more pain medication and let you continue with your resting and healing process. Okay?" The young man opened his eyes and met the doctor's, then nodded his head.

"Very good. Well then," the doctor sat down next to the bed and held up a pen. "Focus your eyes on this pen, and follow it as I move it." The doctor moved the pen back and forth, up and down, watching his patient's eyes follow it faithfully, and encouraged as they tracked its path unerringly. "Very good. Now, I just need to check your pupillary response," he said, leaning forward and shining a penlight into each eye, watching each pupil contract in response to the light. "Very good," He said, "_very_ good indeed. Now, I need you to raise your left arm as far as you can, and wiggle your fingers." The patient did so, and the doctor said, "now, do it for the other arm, but carefully, and stop when it hurts. I know that it was injured pretty badly, I just need to know that you can move it." The young man did as directed, grunting in pain and stopping with the arm barely twenty centimeters up from where it had been resting upon his stomach.

The doctor continued with his tests, verifying that he could move both legs as well and establishing that his patient's fine motor controls were okay, and that he could swallow without difficulty. Likewise with his hearing and vision; which proved to be normal. Only his speech appeared affected, and that, as he assured his patient, might resolve itself with a bit more rest.

"All right, I think that's all I need for right now, young man. Hopefully, you'll be able to tell me who you are at some point, but don't worry too much about that, just at present. Just worry about healing up. The rest will follow. In the meantime, I think it's safe for you to actually eat your dinner, and have a bit of water by mouth. You'll find that you'll get stronger day by day, and Maiere's fine cooking here will certainly help with that." The doctor told him, administering the pain medication as promised. The young man sighed in relief as the meds took effect, giving the doctor a grateful look.

He fell asleep soon after and drifted back into the sea of drug-induced dreams, curled up with his big, purple, winged lion, and let its purr soothe him.

* * *

Maiere left the bedroom with the doctor, quietly closing the door behind them to allow their patient to rest.

"Well," the doctor said. "He's doing well, all things considered. The aphasia is still a little worrying, but considering that he was deeply comatose for well over a week, he's doing remarkably well. I would still like to get him to Deling City General and get a scan done, just so we can get a better idea of exactly _what_ kind of brain injury he's got. Unfortunately, _getting_ him there, that's going to be the real challenge."

"Yeah, a trip like that, in his condition? He's stable but, you and I both know that his ribs haven't knitted yet, and the rough roads, the distance, the heat… moving him right now would do more harm than good." Maiere sighed. "One good bump could send a rib into his lung; aggravate his head injury, and be just incredibly uncomfortable for him. Unless we could fly him, and I don't know how we'd manage that..."

"Well, the signs I'm seeing so far are encouraging. It's possible that his extended unconsciousness was at least partially due to shock and blood loss on top of the head injury." Dr. Marlow said, adding. "I'm going into Deling City in a few days for more supplies. I'll bring this young man's fingerprints and other particulars with me and turn them over to the DCPD. Maybe he's already been reported missing."

"Maybe. Let's hope he has, and we can get him reunited with his family." Maiere said, sighing as she glanced at the closed door, thinking of the man sleeping on the other side. Feeling her heart ache for how lost he'd looked, when he'd first opened his eyes. And yes, how afraid.

Understandable, considering how disorienting even mild head trauma could be.

"Maiere, I want you to do something for this young man, while he's here. Something that might be a great help to him." The doctor said seriously.

"What?" She asked.

"I want you and your son if you don't mind, to interact with him as much as possible. Talk to him. Have Teran play games with him, that sort of thing. Engage and stimulate him, mentally. I'm not a neurologist, but I think that'll help his recovery." Dr. Marlow told her.

"All right," She nodded, already considering the types of games that she'd suggest Teran attempt to play with the man. Card games, certainly; simple and elementary ones, at least at first. Maybe she'd try him on her tablet to see if he could type, and maybe communicate with him that way, if he never regained the ability to speak. It was interesting however, how adept he was at communicating non-verbally. She wondered at that.

The doctor took his leave after that, and Maiere took a quick look at her patient/guest, finding him sleeping soundly. And peacefully, which relieved her. A couple of times, he'd appeared to have been having a nightmare. Usually, squeezing his hand and whispering something reassuring would help settle him down.

He looked so young, relaxed in sleep. Doc had guessed him at early twenties, but Maiere wasn't so sure. Youthful appearance notwithstanding, she had seen threads of gray in his hair when she had, regretfully, shaved it off in order to aid in caring for his injury. So either he was graying prematurely, which was a possibility, or he was older than he appeared. The only way to know for sure would be to ask him, but getting an _answer_ to that question might have to wait a bit.

It was growing back now as soft, thick, reddish-brown fuzz that had very distinct glints of silver at the temples, particularly in the area of his still healing head injury. He was thin; it was surprising to her how quickly he'd lost weight while unconscious. The intravenous support hadn't been nearly enough for his metabolism, obviously, and they'd debated installing a feeding tube to get some denser nutrition into him. Not an easy thing to do without surgery, but not impossible. Fortunately, he'd awakened before they'd had to take that step.

After taking a quick check of the IV fluids and making sure everything else was okay, Maiere left the man to his rest. It was long past time for her to get dinner together.

* * *

He slept restlessly, mounting discomfort making him shift and move in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. He rolled over onto his left side and a stabbing reminder of his broken ribs moved him onto his back again with a groan. Fully awake now, he sighed, staring around at the darkened and empty room. The woman and her son, now satisfied that he was going to live, no longer kept vigil at his bedside or held his hand while he slept. He found that he missed that contact.

He lifted his left hand and studied the ring that rested on the third finger. Even in the dim light he could still see it's uniquely beautiful design; evidence that he had a wife and if his fuzzy, jumbled memories could be trusted, a child of his own. Somewhere. He might have thought that the woman….Maiere, he dredged the name out of memory with great difficulty… was his wife, the way she cared for him. But there was no spark of recognition when he saw her, and the only thing he saw in her eyes was concern for his well-being… and nothing more.

They would ask him questions; it was only reasonable that they should. But as he thought of the kinds of questions that they'd ask, and the information he'd need to provide, the more frightened he became as he came up….blank. On _all_ of it.

He fought down panic as he tried, ignoring the increasingly painful throb of his head, to dredge up anything that would provide the information that these people would need in order to get him home. He cudgeled his poor brain to the point that he was nearly sobbing from the pain and frustration. And still…nothing.

His mind was a patchy mess full of holes and blank spots. The ring he wore provided evidence that he had a wife, but he could not recall her name or her face. He had a child, but didn't know if it was a son or a daughter or if he had one of each. He remembered fighting, he remembered using his gunblade, and wearing the uniform of a SeeD; He was a mercenary. But he could not, no matter how hard he tried, remember what his rank was, or his name.

"No…." he whispered. He could speak now at least, but it did him no good. He could not remember his name. _He could not remember his name!_

He closed his eyes and sank into his pillows, putting his left hand against his aching head, and wept silently.

_Where am I? WHO am I? _

"Dammit!" he whispered, slamming his balled fist ineffectually against the mattress, repeating "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" over and over again in an anguished whisper, his voice breaking in a sob on the last word. He didn't want to wake the entire household while he had a mental breakdown.

"Hey, mister? Are you okay?" a child's voice whispered from close by.

He snapped his head around to look at the child with a startled gasp, and was almost immediately blinded by an excruciating bloom of pain that seemed to fill his entire head.

He groaned and cursed softly, eyes closed.

"Hey! You can talk now!" the boy whispered excitedly, coming closer. Then he whispered confidingly, "but you really shouldn't ought to use words like that. My mama doesn't like it."

"Sorry," he whispered, opening his eyes to see that the child had seated himself in the chair at his bedside. "Did I wake you?"

"Nah. I had to go potty." The boy tilted his head and peered closely at him, then asked, "Were you hurting again? I heard you crying."

His cheeks bloomed with embarrassed heat as he answered, "yeah."

"Here," the boy reached for a box of tissues and helpfully handed one to the young man.

"Thanks," he said, taking the tissue from the boy and wiping his damp eyes and cheeks, then blowing his nose.

"I'll go get my mom. She'll make the pain go away." The boy said decisively, getting up from the chair.

The man was torn; he didn't want the kid to wake his mother in the middle of the night…come to think of it what time was it, anyway? But he really _was_ hurting, physically as well as emotionally. And at least one of those could be remedied with medication.

Before he left however, the boy paused and asked, "Hey, what's your name anyway? Mine's Teran."

The man swallowed and looked away, answering softly, "I don't remember."

"You don't remember your name? Really? Like on those medical shows my mom watches sometimes?" Teran asked, amazed.

"I guess." The man replied, sounding tired.

"Oh." The boy said, and appeared to consider this, then said, "Well, if you can't remember your name, can I give you one?"

The man returned his attention to the boy, Teran, and shrugged slightly, "if you want." Well, they had to call him _something_. He found that he didn't really care what.

"Well…" the boy said, thinking hard. "I'm gonna call you Knight."

"Night?"

"No. KNIGHT," the boy corrected, spelling it out for him. "Because of your sword. Only a knight carries a sword like that."

"It's a gunblade," the man…now called Knight, informed Teran. The word engendered an odd thrill of familiarity within him, and he wondered at that. It wasn't _actually_ his name, was it?

He didn't think so, but his pounding headache made it very difficult for him to think at all, and he fervently wished that the boy would hurry and get his mother over to administer more pain medication.

"Oh. Well, I'll be right back."

"Thanks," Knight said, closing his eyes and trying to relax. Fatigue dragged at him but his discomfort made him wakeful. Hopefully, once the medications took effect, he could once again fall into blissful rest. He needed that oblivion. Even with the nightmares that often plagued him, he managed to rest. Of course the lion-guardian helped by warding off the worst of them.

A touch on his arm drew him from the state of almost-sleep that he'd drifted into.

"Teran tells me you're hurting?" Maiere asked him. "He also says that you can speak now?"

Knight nodded. "Yes. I don't know why I couldn't before. I could _think_ the words…at least once I'd gotten a bit more awake but…it was like they just got …stuck."

"Hmmm. Well, you've gotten a pretty bad head injury. Hard to tell what damage was done and how you'll heal. Only thing that will tell you that is time." Maiere said, checking the IV bags and administering the medication he needed.

Sitting down next to him after she'd finished, she asked gently, "Teran also tells me that you can't remember your name?"

"No. I can't." Knight sighed and looked away, pain ebbing away as the meds took effect. "He calls me Knight. I suppose you'll have to call me something…."

Maiere snorted softly, "My son has a real fascination for knights and dragons. To be honest, I'd been thinking of you as 'Rheon', at least until you woke and I could ask you your actual name."

"Rheon?" Knight asked, starting to feel drowsy.

Maiere smiled slightly, noticing his heavy eyes and slurring speech, and clarified, "It's Old Centran for lion. Because of your pendant."

"Oh. Well, I suppose there's worse things to be called than 'Rheon Knight'." He said, eyes closing and drifting back to sleep.

Maiere watched him sleep for a few moments, hoping that he could recover his memories as his brain healed. It sometimes happened like that, amnesia, like aphasia, was a relatively common side effect of brain trauma. Sometimes the patient was able to recover fully. Sometimes they were not. Only time and patience would tell.

Yawning softly, she finally stood up to leave, whispering, "Good night, Rheon."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You know, I THOUGHT I was ready to post this...and forgot the linebreaks. Silly me. Hope you like it so far... It's weird but I think it'll be cool...hopefully I can pull it off...anyway.. Enjoy!


	2. Part II: MIA

_Part II: M.I.A_

Missing In Action. That was the official term for someone who'd gone missing while engaged in a military action. Missing. Not dead. As in, "we don't know where he is, and since we haven't found a body, can't actually say he's dead," even when all evidence points to exactly that. Without a body, no confirmation of death can be made. Pure and simple.

Squall was missing. Not dead. Rinoa knew that without any doubt; she could _feel_ him. He was still alive. Somewhere. But for some reason, Rinoa could not get him to respond to her and tell her _where_. It was as though he couldn't "hear" her through their link, or perhaps he was unconscious. That thought frightened her. Unconscious meant injured, and as the days passed with no response to her, she began to worry that he _would_ die before he was found.

He was alive; she held to that lifeline as hard as she could, and refused to think that this evidence of life might be….finite. It made her desperate to find him before he _did_ die. For a number of reasons.

The way their mindlink was behaving however wasn't helping. She knew that Squall would block her out when he went on missions; they didn't share absolutely _everything_, and Rinoa understood that while he was working he often could not share with her what he was doing until it was done. But that block shouldn't have remained in place if he was injured. The fact that it still was confused her.

Ellone was having even less success in connecting with him than Rinoa, which was not at all comforting.

"Mrs. Leonhart?" a young SeeD, Squall's aide and an altogether nice young man, addressed her. He carried a cup of hot tea, liberally sugared and lightened with a splash of milk.

She directed her attention to him and smiled, then sighed inwardly as the young man blushed. He _might_ be in his early twenties, but certainly didn't look it. He looked all of sixteen and was obviously crushing hard on her. She hoped his crush wouldn't stop him from fulfilling his _real_ function, should it be required. Squall …._and_ Rinoa….had chosen the young man carefully for a specific purpose. One that she hoped would not be necessary. If they found Squall in time, it wouldn't be.

"Thank you, Rieve." She said, taking the tea from him and sipping it, feeling it warm the lump of ice that had taken up residence in her stomach. "Have you…heard anything?" she asked hesitantly.

"Nothing yet ma'am. We _do_ know that he accomplished his objective, but that's _all_ we know right now. The…" he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "the….ret…_rescue_ team…they've just reached his last reported location and are tracking him from there. We'll know more when they do."

Rinoa smiled kindly at the young man as she sipped her tea. She'd heard the slip. He'd almost said _retrieval _instead of rescue. They still thought they were searching for a body, despite Rinoa's assurances that Squall was still alive, just lost. _Lost…like I am, without you. Please, please Squall…Please hear me?_

She closed her eyes and reached for him again, feeling the sting of tears as she came up against the barrier once more. She touched it, running her mental "hands" over it. It was smooth, impenetrable, and opaque. She could pierce through it if she truly wanted to but something held her back, a sense that it would do him harm if she did so.

"Are you all right Mrs. Leonhart?" Rieve asked her.

"I'm fine. Just tired. Are the twins home from school yet?" She asked him. She already knew the answer; she was just making conversation in an effort to distract herself.

"Yes, they've already taken charge of Misty. They're in the playroom right now with her." He answered.

"I'll be going then. I'm tired and….And I need them." She said, draining her tea and standing up, stretching her back. Fatigue always seemed to gather there, more and more every year. Despite the fact that to the rest of the world, Rinoa still looked to be in her twenties, she was a good bit older, and sometimes, she _felt_ every damn year of it.

Not that she or Squall were all that old, really, though she guessed she had at least ten years on Rieve. She wondered if he was aware of that. She supposed it really didn't matter, in the final analysis. Squall had killed _his_ first sorceress at age seventeen, after all.

_That wasn't the plan Rinoa, and you know it. He's there to stabilize you and help you get to Esthar. Give the kids over to Laguna and you….to a tomb of ice. He's not to kill you unless he has no other choice. If the bond doesn't take, if the Odine bangle can't contain you… _a very real possibility. Her powers had grown exponentially over the years, through practice and refinement, though she never used it offensively anymore. She was easily more powerful than both Edea and Adel combined had been.

It was a dangerous plan, and one neither Squall nor she liked. Rieve would essentially have to take Squall's place as knight, at least temporarily, and help her get to Esthar to be sealed. She wondered if she wouldn't rather he just killed her instead. Or…perhaps just let her die with her husband.

But then that would leave open the whole question of who would inherit her powers, and Rinoa was terrified that the power would follow the Leonhart bloodline and fall to Julia. She would rather spend eternity in cryostasis than force her daughter to become a sorceress at twelve. But that was only _one_ reason, and while an important one, not the main one…

Smoothing her hands down over her protruding abdomen, she felt the baby stir and settle again. _He_ was the main reason they had come up with this plan. Keep her sane, keep her contained, until their surprise baby could be born. Another son. Rinoa and Squall had already picked out a name for him. Tempest Fury. The sense she had of his developing personality told her that the name was a fitting one.

She saw Rieve's gaze soften as he asked, "Baby okay?"

"He's fine. You'll let me know, the minute anything changes?" she asked him.

"Yes."

"Good night then Rieve," she said, walking toward the door.

Out of habit, without even thinking, she mentally reached for Squall….and staggered as a wash of confusion and pain hit her. Her knees buckled and she cried out, momentarily blinded by the onslaught. It was blocked out again an instant later, leaving Rinoa gasping and shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. Rieve held her supported, a mixture of fear, concern and grim determination on his face. One of his hands supported her elbow and she leaned against him, while the other….

The other held an Odine bangle.

"Ri-Mrs. Leonhart?" He asked, eyes searching hers, worried.

"I'm….I'm okay. It's okay Rieve," she said shakily, trying to tamp down the urge to fall into a sobbing heap at his feet.

"Should I get Dr. Kadowaki?" he asked.

"No. I just need to get home and rest." Rinoa answered, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. She could fall apart there without scaring onlookers into thinking that she was going to go Insane Sorceress on them all. Rieve handed her a tissue and she thanked him as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"I should walk you home," the young man said. "You don't look at all steady."

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, "No. I'll be ok." She stepped away from him and gave him a slight smile, "you don't need the bangle yet. He's not dead. Just….hurt." her voice broke on that last word and she turned away before the young SeeD could see the tears welling in her eyes again.

Then she forced her rubbery, shaky knees to bear her up and continue walking her out the door. She shoved the pain and fear and everything else that she was assaulted with in that brief, intense contact, to the back of her mind. She still had to bear up and remain calm for the kids; Saber, Julia and Misty were all as worried as Rinoa about their daddy. And they were all sensitives, so her emotional state would feed into theirs, though Julia and Saber now were old enough to exercise some control over it and now had pretty decent barriers.

She would have to put off falling apart and sobbing herself into insensibility for after the children were in bed.

* * *

Despite Rinoa's certainty that she would not sleep, her body's needs as dictated by the baby she carried within her dragged her deeply into slumber. Deep enough to have strange dreams. She was wandering the flower field near the old orphanage in Centra, a carpet of red, pink, and white blooms at her feet and petals drifting like feathers in the wind. The sunlight had the hazy golden quality of a late summer sunset; the very spot and time of day that Squall had proposed marriage to her.

She looked around for him, but he wasn't there. She was confused for a moment. Was this the moment that she'd found him dying after the battle with Ultimecia, or the one he'd proposed? Was Squall still lost in time?

_I'll be waiting….here… if you come here, you'll find me…._

She started running through the field, heart pounding, hoping she'd find him lying in the flowers, hoping she'd be able to bring him back…calling for him and willing him to answer. When he did not, her strength left her and she sank to her knees in the flowers, sobbing helplessly.

_Squall…oh, Squall I need you so much…I should never have let you convince me to stay behind…._

She woke alone in the wee hours of the morning, cheeks wet with tears. A glance at the empty space beside her that Squall used to occupy brought on more tears, and she curled up on her side, buried her face in her pillow and wept silently.

Only her certainty that he lived; unshakeable as the days passed with no word on his fate, helped her hold together. Rieve, the kids, they helped of course, though in Rieve's case, his support was tempered by wariness. It was as though he was watching her and waiting…. Waiting for the sorceress to awaken and destroy everything and everyone.

Dr. Kadowaki had been kind enough to give Rinoa a leave of absence while they were searching for Squall. Rinoa knew it was as much because of what his condition might possibly be when they found him as her current emotional state. She wasn't able to concentrate fully on her job and was relieved to have that responsibility suspended for the time being. But the enforced idleness was almost worse.

She did what she could to keep busy so that she wouldn't dwell on her fears, her loneliness… she missed Squall desperately and felt completely helpless and useless. Unable to reach him through their bond, she was also unable to track him, so had no way of even knowing which direction to look for him. She only knew, from the brief contact that she'd had before it was blocked out, that he was confused, afraid and in pain, a state that she'd never felt from him before. She'd felt him get injured before, had felt his pain and his anger at having been so clumsy as to get hurt. She'd felt him confused when delirious with fever; an uncommon occurrence for him, since he rarely got sick, but it _did_ happen, most notably if he was exposed to poison. But the mixture of confusion and helpless fear that she'd felt from him was new, and it broke her heart that she could not offer him any comfort.

Rieve was kind enough to bring her updates with her morning coffee as he checked in on her. He was very good at his job, and Rinoa had to give him points for being _there_ without hovering or being too obviously concerned for her state of mind. He already knew enough to simply take a long look directly into her eyes when he spoke to her, and not seeing the amber glow of her power in them, to let her be.

As the days became one week, then two and more, however, with no change in the news that filtered from the searchers, Rinoa found it harder and harder not to give in to despair.

"Mrs. Leonhart?" Rieve asked, entering her apartment at her invitation. He handed her a cup of tea and cleared his throat, tapping a sheaf of papers nervously against his thigh.

"Good morning Rieve," Rinoa said, crossing the apartment to the dining room table and sitting down, inviting the young man to do the same. Then she asked "Anything new?"

Glancing down at the table and smoothing the papers he'd been carrying, Rieve answered carefully, "Maybe. The crew's finally found what they think was Squall's last location."

"Is he…there?" Rinoa asked, swallowing. Surely not. If he'd been injured, he _had_ to have been receiving some kind of aid; he would have died by now, otherwise. Therefore, _someone_ had moved him from that location. If that in fact was the case, then they should be able to track where he'd gone or had been taken to from there.

Rieve shook his head, answering, "No. But we did find the bodies of his team, and of the members of the cell he'd been sent to track down. We also found a lot of blood where we think he….fell. But you're right, no body. There's a clear trail leading away from the battlefield though, and they're busy working out what happened and tracking down where he might be now." Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed it gently before letting go, adding quietly, "We're getting close, I can feel it. We _will_ find him. It's just a matter of time now."

Rinoa nodded, smiling anxiously at him, "I hope you're right." She took a sip of her tea and sighed. "Thank you Rieve."

He took his leave moments later, leaving Rinoa alone with her thoughts. Laguna had been apprised of the situation, and was willingly taking charge of his grandchildren for the week in order to give Rinoa some breathing space. It wasn't a chore for them to spend time with "Poppa Laguna" in Winhill, and it would be a welcome distraction from missing and worrying about their father. Rinoa was doing more than enough of that for all of them.

She was torn however; she vacillated between feeling guilty and inadequate at pawning her children off on their grandfather, even though he'd sounded as though he'd needed them as badly as they needed him, and feeling selfish for wanting to cling to them for emotional support. _She_ should be the strong one, the rock. Her children should be able to lean upon _her_, not the reverse.

The one person that she _did_ lean on when she needed it was the one that was currently missing from her life.

She had friends of course, she wasn't entirely alone. Selphie and Quistis both had been frequent visitors, generously allowing her to dampen their shoulders on a regular basis, whenever she had need. Without them, she'd have….she didn't know _what_ she'd have done, though dark madness beckoned. But…._he's _not_ dead. HE IS NOT DEAD. I can still feel him…I just can't….TOUCH him…._

It was almost worse, being able to sense his presence but not connect with him, communicate with him…on the one hand, it reassured her that he was still alive, and on the other it made her fear even more for his condition.

_Why can't you hear me? Why can't I reach you? Please, Squall…Please answer me? _

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well then, rather a short chapter this time out, from Rinoa's POV this time... next one is Squall's and so on.. next update should be fairly soon...possibly. maybe. There's still a couple of other stories I'm working on, and I'll endeavor to update at least one of them soon..


	3. Part III: Puzzle Pieces

_Part III: Puzzle Pieces_

"I think it's time you got out of bed, Rheon." Maiere declared.

Rheon raised his eyebrows and said, "Okay, if you say so." He was more than willing to give it a try; he was feeling better, but nowhere near as strong as he vaguely remembered being. And there was the matter of his broken leg to consider. At least the headaches and dizziness were gone, so he could sit up without the threat of losing his lunch. Or breakfast, or dinner.

"I do. You need to start moving around a little, and I need to change the bedsheets. Win-win, right?" She said, approaching the bed with a robe in her arms. "Here, just in case you feel the need for modesty."

"Thanks," Rheon said, taking it with a wry quirk to his lips. Then he asked, "are you going to take this tube thing out of my…?"

"Sure, when you show me you can get to the bathroom on your own."

"Unplug me then and give me a crutch or something." He responded, starting to pull the robe on. He struggled a bit with his bad shoulder before giving up and simply pulling the robe over it.

"How about you just try standing for a minute?" she suggested, moving closer to the bed just in case.

"What about..." he glanced downward then returned his gaze to her.

"Okay. Should have it out by now anyway. Hold still, and take a deep breath. And keep in mind, this is nothing personal." Maiere said, pulling the bedding back to expose him, then quickly removing his catheter. A quick intake of breath and an audible swallow was Rheon's response.

"Nothing personal, she says," he muttered. At the moment, he couldn't think of anything _more_ personal than having plastic tubing pulled out of his penis. In fact, the care she'd given him while he'd been convalescing had been _all kinds_ of personal. Mortifyingly so.

Maiere smiled slightly at that and came around the bed to the other side once she'd dealt with the tubing. He'd already had his IV's removed days ago and appeared to be managing solid food fairly well. Of course, "solid food" in this case was essentially infant cereal (though she was careful not to tell him this; she doubted he'd take it well. He seemed the sort that wouldn't). He didn't much care for it, really, but managed it anyway, and he _did_ appear to be getting stronger. If he continued to improve she would try him on regular food.

"Here, let me help you with that," Maiere said, helping him get the robe on over his injured shoulder. He grimaced in pain at an injudicious movement and drew the edges of the robe together with his left hand and tying it.

"Are you ready?" she asked. He nodded. Maiere took a deep breath and steadied herself, planting her feet firmly; she'd have to support him if he started to fall, and while he was rather thin at the moment, he still weighed more than she did.

"Okay, slowly. And if you feel dizzy or feel like you need to sit down, let me know."

"All right." He replied. He'd been able to sit up okay for a few days, but the effort of even shifting around to put his feet on the floor left him feeling disconcertingly weak. Suddenly, he began to wonder if he even _could_ stand, particularly as he'd have to put all his weight on one leg.

"When you're ready." Maiere said calmly.

He appreciated that about her; he was having enough difficulties with his currently weakened state without someone else's opinions and concerns weighing in. She didn't coddle him though, another thing he appreciated…sometimes. She was tough when she needed to be and compassionate when _he_ needed her to be. In short, she was a great nurse, and for the life of him, Rheon couldn't figure out why she bothered when she surely had better things to do than acting nursemaid to _him_.

He took a deep breath and gathered himself, bracing his hand on her shoulder. She grasped it with one of her own and stood firm. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself upright, balancing shakily on one leg and a nurse. Somehow, between the two of them, they managed to maneuver him into a chair next to the bed, and he all but collapsed there gratefully, trembling and sweating, black spots starting to dance before his eyes.

"Fuck." He whispered breathlessly, closing his eyes and grimacing as each breath sent stabbing pains though his still healing ribcage.

"Slow, shallow breaths," Maiere advised. "Relax. Your ribs are knitting nicely but they're not quite healed yet."

Leaning into the backrest of the chair, Rheon simply concentrated on breathing, feeling incredibly drained and more than a little frustrated because of it. He eventually became aware of rustling sounds; she'd apparently started stripping the bed. For some reason, that sound pulled at him, and suddenly….

_He was in a sun-filled bedroom, sneaking up behind his wife as she was remaking the bed with fresh linens. She snapped the topsheet out and watched it drift slowly onto the bed, settling as lightly as thistledown almost perfectly onto the mattress. As it settled down and she released it, he slipped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, before making her shiver by pressing a kiss beneath her earlobe…_

A touch at his shoulder pulled him out of his dream…or memory….with a gasp.

"Rheon?" Maiere asked, gazing at him searchingly. "Are you okay?"

He simply stared at her blankly for a moment, still caught up in his…whatever it was….before licking at his dry lips and nodding slowly. "Yeah. Did I… Did I fall asleep?"

"It looked like it." She tilted head and studied him. "I think we should get you back into bed."

"I move two meters…not even two meters to sit down in a chair and I'm practically passing out," Rheon grumbled as he struggled to his feet, teeth gritted. Maiere hauled him upward and lent her support to get him back into the bed, a feat accomplished to the tune of Rheon's quietly muttered curses. He settled back into the bed, smooth and cool now with clean linens, in mingled relief and chagrin.

"Well, consider this," Maiere said with an eyebrow raised. "A month ago, you were nearly dead. You had lost more blood than I'd ever seen a man lose and still survive. You had several broken bones and a head injury that neither I nor the doctor thought that you'd recover from. All things considered, the fact is, you're coming out of this in much better shape than either of us expected. Give it time. You're doing great but you need to be patient."

"Fine," he said, fatigue and the strangeness left behind by his dream-vision making him petulant. Then he added, "Is there any way that I could get a pair of shorts or something? I'm sure you're tired of looking at my junk by now." He clamped his lips shut as he belatedly heard the quavering whine in his voice.

Maiere smiled slightly at this, and answered, "I'll see what I can do, but you may have to use…_that_….if you don't want the catheter back." _That_ was a plastic jug specifically constructed for someone unable to manage a trip to the bathroom.

Rheon sighed, "Just don't get it confused with the water pitcher…" Maiere snorted in amusement.

"Well, if nothing else, it offers some incentive for you to get more mobile." She replied. Rheon simply glared at her tiredly and closed his eyes.

He drifted off into sleep soon after, with Maiere checking in on him after a while. She watched him for a moment, as he slept, and wondered at his momentary distraction earlier. He must have had a pleasant dream, and Maiere had felt somewhat guilty for pulling him out of it. He'd looked so relaxed, and peaceful, and….happy…. it had transformed his appearance. The harsh angles and lines of pain that was very much in evidence when he was awake had softened and faded, making him look even younger than he had initially appeared.

From the way he'd spoken about her, and his anguished frustration at still being unable to recall her name, Maiere could only conclude that he loved his wife deeply. And just as obviously, missed her desperately. He might not remember _everything_ about her, but he remembered the most _important_ thing: he remembered their love. Watching him sleep, Maiere came to a decision. She would tell him about the name she'd seen tattooed on his backside during the course of caring for him. Perhaps it was _her_ name and maybe, it would help him to remember her, and then….maybe that would lead him back to _himself_. She hoped so, anyway.

* * *

"You're looking better. Ribs still sore?" Dr. Marlowe asked during his check-up a few days later, probing them gently and taking note of the young man's flinch and intake of breath.

"Yeah." Rheon answered.

"Takes a few weeks for bones to knit, and you're about halfway through. You can start moving around a bit but take it easy. Now, I've got a walking cast for your leg, so it'll be a little easier for you to be mobile, but you might still need a cane for support until you're a little stronger." The doctor said, proceeding to remove the cast that was currently on his leg and examining the skin, the bone and the muscles, noting how much they'd atrophied.

Then Maiere, acting as his assistant, had proceeded to wash and dry the leg prior to it being fitted for the walking cast. The leg still ached, and when asked to slowly move his ankle and wiggle his toes, pain shot up his shin, making him grit his teeth and groan in reaction.

The doctor gently probed the area of the break, commenting, "this appears to be healing nicely too. Good thing it was a clean break."

Most of the visit was Dr. Marlowe checking Rheon's physical status, which, as he observed, was almost miraculously good, considering where he'd started. He went over some physical therapy exercises for Rheon's shoulder and leg, and Maiere showed him the icepack that she made up and would keep in the freezer for his use.

"Well, your body seems to be doing okay," the doctor said. "How's the head? Headaches, dizziness, blurry vision, anything like that still happening?"

"Not really," Rheon answered. "I do still get headaches and dizzy spells, but not as often as before."

"Have you noticed any discernable pattern to their occurrence?" the doctor asked.

"No, not really." Rheon answered.

The doctor made a noncommittal noise, then sat down in the chair next to the bed where Rheon was sitting, frowning thoughtfully. The initial head injury had healed, the torn skin stitched and now healed into a thin scar. The hair that had been shorn away to facilitate that healing was growing back, though the scar was still visible. Interestingly enough, the hair that was growing in around the site of the injury appeared to be coming in _white_. When all was said and done and it had grown back completely, Rheon would likely end up with a white stripe at his right temple.

Finally the doctor asked, "What about your memories? From what I've observed and what you've told me, your short-term memory seems to be unaffected. Are you still unable to recall what brought you here?"

Rheon's expression, once relaxed, tensed at this question and he answered, "No."

"What about details about your past? I know you've told me some of what you remember, but it was patchy and you couldn't recall certain pertinent details. Have any new recollections surfaced?" the doctor asked.

"I had a…brief flash… a few days ago. At least, I think it was. I'm still not sure if it was a dream or a memory." Rheon answered.

"Dreams _are_ memories, for the most part. It's your mind's way of sorting out and storing the information it's gathered for the day," the doctor said, leaning forward. "Tell me about this dream...and any others you've had."

Rheon's attention turned inward and he said, "I've had it…a lot, this dream, if that's even what it is. I'm in a field of flowers, sunset's turning everything all golden, and it's beautiful. It was the day I asked my wife to marry me but…then it's not. I mean, she's standing there, in the flower field, with her back to me but then I see…wings of light….growing from her shoulders. It looks like my wife from the back but the wings…she looks like an angel. I want to call out to her, I want her to turn around so I can see if it's really her but….I can't. Nothing comes out. I want to call her name but I can't; I want to see her face, but….and I don't know what it all means. Does it mean that my wife is dead and she's actually an angel, trying to guide me to something? Is it just that I _think_ of her as an angel…_my_ angel…and that's the image my mind conjures up? And I remember so many things: I remember the sound of her laughter, how she felt in my arms, how soft her hair is, and the taste of her kiss…" Rheon suddenly stopped and swallowed, eyes bright with unshed tears, then took a deep, shaking breath and continued. "I…remember _all_ of that. I remember how much I love her but….I can't for the life of me remember her name or her goddam _face_!"

The doctor sat silently for a moment, then looked over at Maiere and said, "Tell him."

Rheon narrowed his eyes and glanced from the doctor to Maiere and back, asking, "Tell me what?"

Maiere didn't answer him right away, instead addressing the doctor, asking, "Do you think it'll help?"

The doctor shrugged, "It can't hurt. It appears he doesn't have _complete_ retrograde amnesia; he can access _some_ memories of times prior to his injury. But they're confused, spotty. He could definitely use a bit more help with sorting them out."

"Tell me what?" Rheon repeated, becoming impatient.

"You have a tattoo on your left butt cheek. I think it's a name." Maiere answered him.

Rheon's mouth suddenly went dry and he had to swallow several times before he could ask, "What's the name?"

"Rinoa." Maiere answered, watching him closely.

_Rinoa. _At first, there was nothing. No spark of recognition, and Rheon's heart plummeted. Was it perhaps an old girlfriend's name? If so, why hadn't he changed it or removed it when he got married? Unless… _Unless it WAS his wife's name… _

"_I love you Rinoa. Forever. Marry me?"_

_Golden sunlight spilled over a brilliant riot of wildflowers. Petals somehow had gotten scattered over the blanket that they lay on, and the remains of their largely ignored picnic lunch. A sweet breeze drifted in from the nearby seashore and….Rinoa….gazed up at him with tears in her eyes and whispered, "Yes."_

Maiere's eyes met the doctor's in alarm as Rheon suddenly went dead white and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding his head in his hands and moaning in pain.

"Rheon? What's going on?" the doctor asked him.

Rheon did his best to open his eyes to glare at the doctor but only managed to squint at him before closing them again and gritting out, "My fucking head hurts and I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Okay. Here, take a couple of these and lie down for a bit." The doctor said, handing Rheon two pills. Maiere handed him a glass of water and he took the medication, draining the glass as well.

Rheon lay back down on his bed, face still pale and sheened with sweat, and opened his eyes a slit, commenting, "_Worst_ headache yet." Then closing them again.

"Does the light hurt your eyes?" Maiere asked, meeting the doctor's eyes. Rheon's lips tightened and he nodded.

"It's a migraine. It'll pass. You just need to rest." Maiere said calmly, drawing the curtains closed and darkening the room as much as she could.

"Thank you," Rheon murmured. He dimly registered the fact that they left, closing the door softly behind them. Blessed silence closed in and he sank into it gratefully, head throbbing like a beating heart.

* * *

The lion-guardian was waiting for him. Rheon walked up to him and buried his face in the soft mane, hoping to find some refuge there, but the pain followed him. Pain…and memories. The guardian held him anchored so that he wouldn't become lost in the confused flood of images that featured the woman…the _angel_… he now knew as Rinoa, his wife. Images that brought tears and threatened to break his heart at the same time: Rinoa, swelling with pregnancy, then lying white and still in a hospital bed. Rinoa, her eyes glowing with golden light and incandescent wings spreading from her shoulders, an archangel, ready for battle. Rinoa, seated in a rocking chair in the dim, gray light of early morning, raven hair tousled around her shoulders, breastfeeding a tiny infant. His son.

He remembered…Dancing with her. Fighting for her. Fighting alongside her. Fighting _with_ her. Saving her, and being saved _by_ her. He remembered marrying her, kissing her. Making love with her. He remembered the promises he'd made to her. _All_ of them.

_I'll be waiting…. If you come here, you'll find me…_

As those memories returned, he sensed joy in the dream-guardian, and he wondered at it.

_You are healing_, it told him, purring happily and butting its head against him affectionately. _We will_ _soon be whole again._

_I don't understand. Aren't you just a dream-guardian? _Rheon asked.

_I am considerably more than that, though I have acted in that capacity in order to help you to heal. I've had to block your mind out from the confusion that threatened to fragment it entirely. I have been protecting your mind, while your body was healing. I am considerably more than simply a dream-guardian… as are these others that you see in here with me. We all exist symbiotically within your mind. Call upon us, and we can give you our strength_. The Guardian said. Then it asked, _Can you remember my name?_

_Griever! Make them bleed!_

He started back from the guardian with a gasp, then frowned. It did not match the image that had accompanied that recollection. Nor did he sense any aggression from it, not now, not ever.

_Not_ yet. _That is from a different time. This is my form before it was….changed._

_Your name is…Griever._

_Yes_. It acknowledged.

Rheon looked at the other presences…guardians…that gathered around Griever. He sensed eagerness from them.

_Do…you remember me, master?_ One of them stepped forward, eyes glittering sadly. It was the Ice Queen; an ice elemental that Rheon now recalled his long association with.

_S…Shiva? _Rheon asked. She nodded happily and flung her arms around him, her cool embrace soothing the pain that still plagued him.

He looked at the remaining entities; one, a majestic dragon of steel blue and scarlet, and the other….a blurred, vaguely female shape that gave the impression of great age and immense power. Their names swam to the surface of his mind and he captured them before they could retreat, speaking them aloud so as to fix them in his mind.

_Bahamut. King of Dragons. And…Eden. Mother of all Guardians_. He said. Bahamut bowed its head, acknowledging its name, and Eden nodded once.

Rheon reached out and touched the Dragon-guardian, saying, _So, you're real…not just parts of my imagination?_

_We inhabit the physical plane only briefly. Our link to your mind provides us a gateway to your dimension. This…junction…allows us to give you strength and the ability to utilize magic, as well as the ability to call upon us to assist you in battle._ Griever explained.

Rheon _remembered_. Calling out the name of the dragon, Bahamut, and watching as the creature wreaked fiery havoc on whatever target he chose… Rheon shuddered and shied away from that memory, one of many that were darker, bloodier, and more violent. What sort of man had he been that an angel would marry _him_?

He would have left then, retreated from them, but Griever would not allow it. _You have nowhere to go to escape these memories, and to try is to become lost once again. You must accept both the darkness and the light within you in order to regain your true self. To abandon the worst is to deny the best._

_You are what fate has made you, Master._ Shiva told him softly.

_What HAS fate made me? _ He wondered.

_You will arrive at that conclusion in due time_, Griever told him. Then it looked back for a moment, gazing at something that Rheon could not see. _She calls for you. Will you answer her?_

Returning its attention to Rheon, Griever waited, gazing serenely at him with glowing azure eyes.

_She?_ Rheon asked, wondering if it was his wife that the Guardian was referring to.

_Your mate. She has been calling but I could not let you hear her until you were strong enough to answer her. Will you answer her now?_ Griever asked again.

_Rinoa. Her name is Rinoa, right?_ Rheon asked, suddenly feeling unsure.

_Yes_.

_I still don't remember who _I_ am._

_You will._

Rheon hesitated. Despite the Guardian's assurances that this place where he'd been speaking to it and the other guardians was somehow real, and not a dream, he found it difficult to believe it. But….if it gave him the memory of Rinoa's face, her beautiful smile, put an image to the music of her laugh…then he would believe, and try somehow, to answer the voice that sighed on the wind in this strange place inside his mind.

_How do I answer her?_ He wondered.

_Look upon your finger._ Griever told him.

Rheon looked, and frowned at seeing a golden thread, wrapped around his left ring finger underneath his wedding band. The thread hung from his finger onto the ground, snaking off into the distance. Had that been there the whole time, with him unaware of it, or had his guardian put it there just now to guide him?

_That is your tie to each other. Your bond. Follow it, and you will find her._

* * *

The knight, Rheon, wasn't feeling well, and Teran was worried. His mother told him that he was still healing, and having a bunch of memories suddenly hit him all at once was a little overwhelming, and he needed rest to sort it out. Teran could kind of understand…he'd had a bad flu once, and his head had hurt every time he'd tried to think, so he'd spent most of his time sleeping. Rheon slept a lot too. But he _was_ getting better, and that made Teran happy. The fact that the card games and mind-teasers that they'd played together had helped made Teran even happier.

They didn't play for very long at first; Rheon was very weak and tired easily. But he gradually got stronger and stayed awake longer, and they'd play cards, read stories or just talk. Teran told him all about his mom, and his dad, and how much they both missed him and uncle Brend. Rheon didn't talk much at first, even when he regained the ability to speak. Teran thought it was maybe because Rheon couldn't remember enough about himself to talk about.

But he _did_ listen, and Teran found that having someone's undivided attention, especially if that someone was an adult, albeit a damaged one…was a very novel concept. Not that his mother _didn't_ pay attention to him; but she was busy being a mom, and a nurse, and sometimes Teran felt a bit lost in the daily shuffle. So, he'd come and spend time with Rheon if he wasn't sleeping.

It made him feel good that Rheon was healing and that he was playing a small part in it. He wished that Rheon remembered more things about himself; he would have liked to know if he had a son and how old the boy was. But Teran wasn't so self-focused that he couldn't see the lost look in the man's eyes whenever he talked to him about family stuff. He wished he could help him to remember.

But it was getting on toward dinner, and if Rheon was to get stronger, he had to eat. At least that's what his mom kept saying.

Teran hesitated in the bedroom doorway, peering into the darkened room, trying to see if Rheon was awake or asleep. His mom had wanted him to check to see if Rheon would feel up to perhaps venturing downstairs for dinner for a change. That prospect excited Teran. She'd been adamant however about _not_ waking him if he was asleep because of his … mi-graine headache.

"Teran?" Rheon's sleep thickened voice sounded from the darkness. A rustle sounded from the bedding as he shifted. "What did you need?"

"Um…are you feeling okay? Its dinner time and mama wanted to know if you were feeling up to it." Teran asked.

Rheon sighed, rolling onto his back and rubbing his hand over his face. Some part of him was still trapped in the odd dream-memory that he'd had, and he was having a difficult time coming out of it. But his body's needs had awakened him; he was conscious of being very hungry, and that had likely played a part in his migraine headache. Thankfully, the pain had subsided to a dull ache.

He stretched and grunted, "all right. Tell her I'll be down.

"You will? Really?" Teran asked.

"Yeah. I think I'll manage the stairs okay." Rheon said, even though he had some misgivings about that.

"Great! I'll tell mama you're gonna eat with us this time!" Teran said excitedly. It was the first time that Rheon had even considered trying to join them at dinner. Seeing how shaky he'd been with the walking boot and cane, Teran could understand his hesitation at attempting to walk downstairs.

"Um…If you need any help…you know, getting downstairs…" Teran offered, biting his lip. Rheon was still really skinny but a lot taller even than mama was. Almost as tall as his father had been. If he fell, Teran knew he couldn't catch him, but…if he needed someone to at least help with his balance… Teran could do that okay.

"I'll call for you. Don't worry kid, I'll be fine. I'll be down in a little bit." Rheon assured him.

"Alright then." Teran said, leaving Rheon to it.

* * *

Rheon gazed after the boy pensively, then sighed and sat up. He was still wearing the robe that Maiere had given him; his only garment at the moment. She had shown him however where she kept some men's clothing and had gotten a few items out for him. Some of it had been her brother's, the rest her husband's. His own clothing, she had explained, had been shredded beyond repair and so had been discarded.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly, painfully, got out of bed and made his way over to where Maiere had placed the clothing. Sorting through it, he found a plain black tee shirt, and a pair of undershorts, which he tossed over onto the bed behind him. He puzzled over what to put on his bottom half however, mindful of the bulky boot on his leg which would make putting on a pair of pants difficult to do without help….and a pair of scissors. He certainly wasn't going to go downstairs and eat dinner with his host family in nothing but a tee shirt and borrowed underwear.

He finally found a solution to that dilemma in the form of a pair of athletic shorts. They were very loose fitting in the leg, so they'd be able to get over the damned boot, but with a drawstring at the waist that could be tightened so that they wouldn't fall off. He tossed them back onto the bed with the rest of the clothes he'd picked out, and made his way back to it, fine tremors beginning to set in from even that small effort.

He sat back down on the bed with a heavy sigh, wondering if he'd even manage to make it downstairs when simply walking across the room was still so taxing on his weakened body. He'd managed to get up and get to the bathroom when needed, mainly through sheer grit and determination, but it wiped him out, every time. He glanced over at the pile of clothes next to him, and decided to do his best to ignore the slight dizziness that had set in, the weakness that had left him trembling, and the pain that had subsided to a dull ache but had never actually gone away.

Reaching for the shirt, he slowly got dressed. It _did_ feel good to have actual clothes on again, he had to admit. It made him feel less like an invalid at any rate.

Upon completing that process, he made his way out of the bedroom and to the stairway that led downstairs to the rest of the house. Once there, he paused for a moment, contemplating the steps and wondering if this might best be attempted another day, as he wasn't entirely sure he'd make it to the bottom in one piece.

It was a brief hesitation however; a short pause to gather strength before he proceeded.

Grasping the handrail tightly with one hand, and carefully setting the cane he'd been given on the step below where he stood with the other, he stepped downward on his injured leg first, gritting his teeth at the pain. He quickly followed with his uninjured leg and shifted his weight to it. He took a breath, then growled to himself in frustration as he stood, trembling and sweating after taking only one step, while several more remained for him to negotiate. Head swimming, strength fading, he carefully took another step. Then another. And another.

He continued down the staircase, grimly forging onward, step by excruciating step, until he reached the bottom.

Swaying, he held onto the handrail like it was his only lifeline. He leaned heavily upon the cane as well, wondering _how_ the hell he'd manage to walk to the damned dining room.

"Rheon? What are you doing? You look like you're about to collapse!" Maiere exclaimed, coming out of the dining room and seeing him there. She immediately came to his side and somehow managed to slip underneath his arm where he was gripping the handrail like grim death, putting her arm around his waist and bearing him up with surprising strength.

"Teran… thought I'd….do dinner….with you guys." Rheon said with difficulty as they both made their way across the landing and into the dining room proper.

Maiere grunted in response, then said, "He should know better. You'd just barely gotten back on your feet. You needed a few more days to get stronger before you attempted this."

"Tired…of laying in bed… boring." Rheon replied, sighing in relief as they finally made it to the dining room, and a chair, upon which he sank gratefully.

"Thanks." He said, taking a moment to catch his breath. Then he looked back over to the staircase and sighed again, adding, "You may have to simply make me up a pallet on the floor here. I don't think I have it in me to climb back up those damned stairs."

Maiere folded her arms across her chest and studied him with one eyebrow raised, saying, "You got down here. You can get back up."

"You may have to help me." Rheon said.

"All you have to do is ask," Maiere replied.

"Will you?"

"Of course. Now just relax here and I'll have dinner ready in a moment. You'll need all the energy you can get."

* * *

Later that evening, Rheon awakened suddenly. Sighing, he yawned and stretched, wincing at his various aches and pains. Muscles weakened from too little use complained now that they were being put back into service, while knitting bones were still making their half-healed state known. Still fuzzy-headed from sleep, Rheon lay still for a moment and tried to sort out just what it was that he needed.

Exhaustion that evening from his overexertion had dragged him deep into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Maiere had very kindly left a glass of water and a couple of pain pills on the table by his bed, and Rheon gratefully placed them into his mouth and drained the glass. Then he considered the state of his bladder, deciding that difficulties notwithstanding, a trip to the bathroom would definitely be worth the effort. He had a plastic urinal close to hand for "emergencies", but hadn't used it and unless things went seriously awry, wouldn't. The mere thought of it made him shudder.

So, grunting quietly and gritting his teeth, he struggled into his robe (it _was_ getting easier, he acknowledged in relief), wondering briefly as he did if Maiere had undressed him since he didn't remember doing so himself. Then he grabbed his cane, struggled stiffly to his feet, and made his way to the bathroom.

Once that need was addressed, he turned off the light and exited the room, nearly blundering into Maiere, who exclaimed quietly in surprise, "Oh! I thought you were Teran!"

"Sorry if I woke you," Rheon said softly, making his way slowly to his room.

"That's all right. I'm actually kind of surprised to see you up. You were wiped out after dinner." She commented, matching his slow, hitching pace.

"Well, I had to get up," He said, nodding back at the bathroom.

Maiere laughed softly, "True enough."

It was a short trip from the bathroom to Rheon's guest room, but his current handicap made it seem as though he had to walk kilometers, rather than mere meters, to return to his room. Upon reaching it, he paused, leaning against the doorframe. Maiere frowned; despite the fact that none of the lights were on, there was still a night-light in the hallway, a fact that Rheon was grateful for. So he was able to see her expression in the dim light.

"I never thanked you for saving me, did I?" Rheon asked her.

"You had far too many other things to think about Rheon. That was the least of my concerns regarding you." Maiere answered him.

"You had no reason to do that. And I've been a lot of work, both for you and the doctor. You know nothing about me, and owe me nothing and yet….here I am, alive and healing….because of you. So, thank you." Rheon said solemnly.

"You can thank me when we finally get you home to your wife." Maiere replied, turning away to return to her bedroom.

"Why did you?" His question drifted toward her from the darkness.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, not turning around.

"Why did you save me?" He clarified.

"Because…I couldn't let you die in front of my son. And because _you_ didn't want to die. You could have, so easily. All you would have had to do was to give up. But you didn't. You kept fighting. I just helped you fight, that's all." Maiere answered. She was about to continue on to her bedroom, but something made her stop and turn around.

Coming back up to Rheon, she reached up and took his face in her hands, gazing into his eyes, in the dimness. Seeing doubt, seeing confusion, and of course pain. Both physical and mental.

"It's not about whether or not you're worth saving. That's not for me to judge. All I could do is give you a chance. What you do with it from here is up to you." Maiere said softly, and then she added, "If you ask me though, I personally think that you are a good person. No one who loves his wife as deeply as you love yours can be entirely bad." Caressing his cheeks, she dropped her hands to his and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"Go back to sleep Rheon. You need your rest."

"So do you," he replied.

She nodded, and said, "Good night then."

"Good night."

Rheon watched her go then turned to re-enter his bedroom, returning to his bed and sinking back into it with a relieved sigh.

Dinner had been enjoyable with Maiere and her son Teran. Teran in particular had been full of questions when Rheon had been hard-pressed to answer. He was remembering more, but it was still fragmentary and he knew that it would take a good deal of time to fit all the pieces together. He had one vital piece though: his wife's name. Rinoa. And all the memories attached to it that had flooded his mind.

More pieces would come. He knew now, from asking, that Maiere and her son lived in a tiny, remote community high in the mountains of Centra. After begging a map from her, he pinpointed where it was, and she showed him where he'd been found. How and why he'd come to be there however, he still could not recall. And the fact that he'd been found amid the remains of what appeared to be an incredibly destructive battle, raised more questions than answers.

Had he been responsible for all of that destruction? All those deaths? If so, how? And how could Maiere believe him a good person if that was the case?

He looked down at his wedding band, twirling it around his finger. In his mind's eye, he saw the golden thread, tangled around it, leading…somewhere. To Rinoa. He needed to get stronger so that he could finally go and find her.

Closing his eyes again, he let his mind calm and eventually drifted back into sleep…and into the dreams that were becoming more real than his waking life currently was.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: :Yaaay! Another update! Squall continues his slow progress, healing both his mind and his body, and  
he's gradually getting some of his memories back. Now it's just a matter of either the SeeDs finding him, _Rinoa_ finding him, or Squall making his way home himself. Stay tuned and we'll see what develops...


	4. Part IV: Shards of Broken Glass

_Part IV: Shards Of Broken Glass_

The sun warmed the bench and sparkled off the central fountain in the Quad. Rinoa closed her eyes and simply drifted, allowing herself a rare, quiet moment. She refused to think, to worry; instead she simply let her mind drift where it would. She focused on the splashing and burbling of the fountain, the twittering of the various varieties of birds that flitted amongst the decorative trees. A cooling breeze drifted through the concourse, ruffling her hair and brushing it away from her face, a brief touch of ethereal fingers that brought a pang as she remembered real, warm, solid fingers doing the same thing on numerous occasions.

The twins were in class; she had thought that she'd have to fight Squall on the subject of their schooling but he had agreed with her on that subject. It _did_ surprise her at first to learn that he did _not_ want them fast-tracked into SeeD unless they chose it themselves; until she remembered that _he_ hadn't been given the opportunity to choose. That both of their eldest children had chosen to follow in their father's footsteps despite his assurance that they didn't _have_ to… had surprised and disconcerted both Squall and Rinoa.

There were criticisms on all sides about it too. Those thinking that loving parents shouldn't have to shove their children into the rigid discipline of a military academy, that they were forcing their twins into the SeeD program. There were those who, on the other side of the coin, thought that the twins were receiving preferential treatment because of who their parents were, and were excelling because of _that_, rather than their abilities. Nothing could be further from the truth.

They did what any parents did in support of their children's schooling. She and Squall both helped with their homework, and later, when astoundingly _both_ children chose the gunblade as their primary weapon, Squall helped them practice. On that _one_ point Rinoa had to admit, if only privately, that the kids _did_ have an unfair advantage in living with an acknowledged master of the weapon.

Misty however, had just started preschool and Rinoa was content to let her find her own way. Perhaps she would follow Rinoa's path and become a healer. One could hope, anyway.

As she sat there, drifting mentally, she suddenly felt a surge of energy and the entire feel of her surroundings changed. She knew, without opening her eyes, what it was.

"Griever," She said, opening her eyes to focus on the GF.

"Mistress." It acknowledged, padding forward to lay down at her feet, wings tightly closed against its back.

"You have been blocking me from contacting Squall, haven't you?" She asked.

"Yes," It answered, bowing its head and closing its eyes briefly.

"Why?"

"To protect his mind. His injuries left it fragmented, shattered. His body and his mind were both broken, and he needed to be isolated within himself so that he could heal. Outside contact, even through the bond, caused him too much confusion and distress, interfering with his healing process." Griever explained. "I had to isolate him even from the other Guardians for a time."

"And now?" Rinoa asked, hoping that the Guardian had good news for her.

Griever sat up, regaining its regal bearing, flipping its red-tipped tail in a very catlike manner as it answered, "he is recovering. I am no longer blocking the bond, but I would proceed carefully, for his state is still fragile."

"What happened? Can you tell me?" Rinoa asked.

"Yes," Griever nodded gravely. "He and his team fought a pitched battle; they were badly outnumbered and cornered. They prevailed, but at a high cost. Only Squall survived the battle, gravely injured. One of these injuries was to his head, which in turn damaged his mind. He recieved help, fortunately, and is healing. He's putting the shattered pieces of himself back together...and he's searching for you. I've shown him the bond and told him to follow it to you. Go to the place in your mind that you both recall and wait for him there. He will find you. He remembers you now."

"He didn't before?" Rinoa asked, ice starting to curl into a cold lump in her belly. Tempest squirmed and kicked her in protest, and she gasped, rubbing at her tummy and trying to calm herself lest her tension affect him further.

"Not completely. He remembered that he loves you, but could recall nothing else. Go carefully when you connect with him, you may help but you may also hinder...to him, this is a dream. As he grows stronger, more will come back to him...But this is _his_ fight. You cannot do it for him." Griever advised her.

"You're certain of this?" Rinoa asked him.

"Yes. I've been inside his mind and have seen the damage first hand. Go delicately." It repeated.

"I see. Thank you, Griever." Rinoa said.

It made as though to leave, indeed Rinoa felt the energy surge that heralded Griever's disappearance into its home dimension, but it was halted when a little girl's voice squealed happily, "Gee-kitty!"

Misty, just now leaving her preschool class, was the reason that Rinoa was waiting in the quad. Garden held the preschool classes outdoors in a special section of the quad on days with good weather, allowing the children space to run and play when class structure became too much. It was an innovation put forward by Quistis after she became Headmaster, that so far had positive outcomes for all the children enrolled.

Griever lay back down, for all the world like the giant purple lion that it resembled, and purred loudly as a tiny, black-haired dynamo launched herself at it. While unusual in the extreme, everyone in Garden knew by now how unique Griever's connection to the Leonhart family was. It was not a traditional Guardian Force, nor was it a traditional junction that it shared with both Squall and Rinoa. Instead, Griever was an integral part of their bond, and could come and go at will, rather than awaiting a summons. It was part of why it was able to block Rinoa out while protecting Squall's mind. No other GF could do that.

Right now however, Griever was playing the part of a large, rather frightening-looking (to the uninformed) family pet, for the benefit of the little girl who was happily snuggling into its mane. Rinoa rather suspected that Griever had a soft spot for Misty, far more so than for the older children, though as time had passed, it had become more of a family avatar than a Guardian, and cared for _all_ of them. Griever had assured her that it would watch over the older children as they continued on their pathway to becoming SeeDs. Rinoa, and Squall, both took a great deal of comfort in that.

"You like scritches, Gee-kitty?" Misty was saying happily, both hands buried in the GF's thick mane and scratching industriously. Griever purred louder in response, rubbing its face gently against the child's, prompting her to giggle. Rinoa smiled at the image, and at the joy exuded by both the Guardian and her daughter. She let them play until Griever gave her a silent message that it had to leave, then she stepped in.

"Misty honey, Gee-kitty has to go home now, and so do we. Do you want a snack?" Rinoa asked her daughter.

Misty pouted slightly and asked, "Will Gee-kitty come back to play again soon?"

Griever nodded and Rinoa said, "Gee-kitty says yes. Come along sweetie." Rinoa held out her hand and Misty reluctantly left Griever, and took it.

She waved and said sadly, "Bye Gee-kitty." The Guardian gradually faded from sight, rather than simply disappearing like it normally did. Rinoa suspected that it did so for Misty's benefit so that she could see that it only existed in this world part of the time.

As they started walking home, Misty asked, "Can I have a peanut butter sandwich mummy?"

"Certainly you can. And milk too if you like." Rinoa answered.

"Okay," Misty skipped about a little, hand still gripping Rinoa's, asking, "Gee-kitty talks to daddy too, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Rinoa answered.

"Good. I told Gee-kitty to tell daddy that I missed him and hope he comes home soon." Misty said.

Rinoa felt her eyes stinging with tears and sent a silent message to the Guardian to be sure to relay the message...When it felt it safe for Squall to hear it.

"Me too, baby. Me too."

* * *

It was much later, after Misty and the twins had all gone to bed, that Rinoa, lying in bed herself, mulled over what Griever had told her. It had left her almost afraid to try and contact Squall through the bond, because of what she feared it would do to him if he wasn't ready for it. _Go to the place in your mind that you both know._.. it had told her. Along with that statement had come an image of the flower field next to the ruins of the Kramers' old orphanage. It was a place integral to their relationship. There, Squall had pledged himself to her as her knight. Rinoa had found his body there, after they had defeated Ultimecia, and had called him back to her somehow. A year later, he proposed to her there. Now, hopefully, he would find Rinoa there, waiting for him once again.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm her mind. Then she visualized herself in that field, waiting for Squall. Just like he'd promised her, years before; _If you go there, I'll find you_. She hoped he would.

So, she set out to reconstruct a memory; golden sunlight of a particular rich, burnished hue only seen during a glorious sunset. Flowers of every type and color, red, white, pink, purple and blue, carpeting the field. Petals drifting on the wind. Birds singing, surf crashing in the background, and herself, standing in the flower field. She worried for a time over how she should appear; would he best remember her as the girl he'd asked to marry him or the woman who was now six months pregnant with his son?

She decided to stay in the present. Perhaps this too would help him to remember.

Her breathing slowed, steadied and she entered a nearly hypnotic state as she went to a place that wasn't _quite_ a dream, but wasn't reality either. It was something in between. Once there, her mind picked up the thread of the bond, and followed it to Squall. He was asleep, she discovered, and dreaming. And in his dreams, he was searching for her, just as Griever had told her.

_Go delicately_, it had warned her, and so she did, not speaking to Squall, simply insinuating herself very carefully into his sleeping mind. It was very similar to the method that Ellone had used to link to her brother's mind on more than one occasion, though in this case, Squall was already asleep. As carefully, _delicately_, as she could, Rinoa slipped into his dreams.

He was dreaming of the flower field, and Rinoa almost wept at the aching loneliness and sense of loss that she could feel from him. She looked around, unable to see him, but sensing him all around her...not surprising as she was inside his mind. She could sense the bond, pulsing and alive, and through it could "see" his injuries._ Oh...my love...I am here..._, She thought, feeling the pain of his broken bones, his injured head. She could also sense the fragmented state of his mind; she saw the blank spots and the brief flashes of memories that left him confused and frustrated. She wanted to hold him in her arms, soothe his hurts, _heal_ him...but she couldn't. Not while she was still pregnant, at any rate. Erring again on the side of caution as she had with her first pregnancy, Rinoa refrained from using any magic at all while she was carrying..with the exception of the bond, which was an entirely different thing.

_Rinoa_...

His longing called to her, and she answered.

_I am here. Waiting for you._

The temptation to use the bond to draw him to her was acute, and Rinoa fought that impulse, instead slipping back into her own mind and back to her image of the flower field, a mirror image to what was in his mind. As hard as it was for her, she had to remain passive and wait for him.

A cool breeze from the nearby sea lifted her hair, sending it riffling back from her face in streamers of black silk, and she closed her eyes, hands clasped over her breast, fingers rubbing at her wedding band for comfort and reassurance. Squall's presence within their bond seemed to grow stronger, as though he was following its thread to her. Then...

_"Rinoa?"_ He asked, hesitantly, as though unsure.

She felt him behind her, and wanted to turn and fling herself into his arms. Instead, she turned around slowly, and gave him a tremulous smile.

_"Yes,"_ She confirmed, trying to hide her dismay at how he looked, knowing that it was reflective of his physical state. He was thin, his face lined with pain, his hair shorn close to his skull. A streak of white illuminated the healed scar at his temple.

_"You're...my wife?"_

_"Yes."_

He was silent a long moment, simply studying her, as though striving to fit all the pieces together. Slowly, he limped toward her, eyes fixed on hers.

Coming to a stop in front of her, he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, whispering, _"you're beautiful. The most beautiful, radiant angel that's ever haunted my dreams...I've wanted to see your face for so long..." _ He stopped as his eyes traveled downward to rest upon her protruding abdomen, glittering suspiciously as he took his hand away from her face and rested upon her belly. _"Mine?"_ Rinoa nodded confirmation, and he asked, _"Son or daughter?"_

Tears flooded Rinoa's eyes as she answered,_ "son._"

He took a deep breath, swallowing, and looked around at the field, the ruined orphanage, the seashore, saying wistfully, _"this is a dream. This isn't real. But, oh, Gods, I wish that it was." _ He returned his gaze to hers, and the naked longing in his eyes threatened to break her heart.

_"So do I." _ Rinoa said. _"But...this..is a real place. And those memories of it that we both share, they actually happened in this place. THIS is a dream. But...I will wait for you here, just like we promised each other. We WILL find our way back to each other again." _

He nodded, falling silent again, and looked down and away for a moment. Then he raised his head and met her eyes again. Rinoa knew what he wanted, what he ached for, and could no more refuse him than she could ignore her own need. They were in each others arms with the speed of a thought, and they simply held each other while tears streamed down their cheeks.

_"I wish this was real. I wish you were really in my arms..."_ He couldn't help thinking it, and Rinoa held him tighter to her heart.

_"I wish that too. But it is real enough for now. And I will always be with you."_

_"Always?"_

_"Yes. Do you feel it? The bond?"_

_"I...think so. I followed it... To you."_

_"It is real. Think of me, and you will feel it."_

They fell silent for a time, still holding each other.

_"I miss you."_ He eventually whispered.

_"I miss you too."_ She answered.

Suddenly, he began to fade and his panicked gaze met hers as he clutched at her.

_"What...?"_ he gasped. Something was pulling him away, and he didn't want to go.

_"You're waking up. Don't worry, I'll stay with you."_ Rinoa reassured him.

He receded from her, hand outstretched and fingers still reaching as they faded and slipped from her grasp._ "Wait! Not yet! I need to ask you first...what is my name..."_

Then he was gone. From the dream anyway. Rinoa could still feel him, still feel his regret as his mind awakened without the answer he had sought. No matter. She could give him the answer and he would hear it now. She whispered it, softly, into his mind.

_"Your name is Squall Leonhart..."_

* * *

Rinoa was happy. She woke that morning with an upwelling of joy that she couldn't even begin to contain, and it spilled over onto the children as she sang while making them their favorite breakfast, kissed them enthusiastically and prepared to send them off to school. The children caught her mood and even caught a sense of what had caused it. Saber of course, would be the one to ask her about it however, and so he did.

"How come you're so happy mom?" He asked, then exchanged a glance with Julia and added, "Did you hear from dad?"

Not seeing any reason to hide it from them, Rinoa answered readily, "Yes, I did, finally."

_That_ caught the attention of all three children, and they drew together, watching her eagerly.

"Is he...is he coming home soon?" Julia asked softly.

"I hope so honey, I really do." Rinoa answered.

"Daddy's lost? Is that why he's been gone so long?" Misty asked. "Can you tell him how to find us, Mummy?"

"I already have, sweetie. But I think it would be better if we helped him a little." Rinoa said, not sure if she should attempt to explain why. Fortunately, the children accepted that answer at face value.

They ate in silence for a few moments; Saber's expression was thoughtful, and Rinoa wondered what the boy had on his mind. Very like his father, in that respect, she thought. In other respects however, their eldest child could best be described as an even blending of both parents. Both in personality _and_ in appearance. He had his father's beautiful turquoise eyes, (which girls were _already_ sighing over...) and intelligence, coupled with his mother's inky black hair and outgoing personality. Julia, his twin sister, was completely different; quiet and introverted like her father, she had a riotous mane of rich auburn hair and light brown eyes...and her share of admirers as well. The youngest, Misty Dawn, was Rinoa's "mini-me", both in appearance and in personality; black hair, brown eyes, energetic, outgoing and totally fearless.

Finally, Saber asked, "We're going to look for him, aren't we?"

Rinoa studied him for a moment, seeing more than a little bit of Squall in the boy's serious question. The same level, calculating expression. The same determination displayed in the set of his lips, the hint of steel in his eyes. Personality notwithstanding, he was _definitely_ his father's son, in numerous, subtle ways. She had intended to try and commandeer the Ragnarok, currently in Centra with the team tracking Squall, to bring her to the old orphanage and the flower field. Alone. She now realized that it would be a mistake not to include their children as well, though she worried over them missing class time.

At length, she answered, "Not so much look for him as...wait for him. And help him to find us." Seeing the puzzled expressions on the children's faces, Rinoa clarified, "your father and I, we made a promise to each other. I don't even remember now if it was a promise he made to _me_ or me to _him_, and it doesn't really matter at this point. The promise was for us to meet at a certain place if we ever were separated for any reason. Originally it was when we were fighting Ultimecia and had no idea where we'd end up afterward. It's since become something...more personal to us. I reminded him of it, and so I want to be there so he can find us. _All_ of us."

The children exchanged a glance, and Rinoa could sense a silent discussion going on between the twins, while Misty simply radiated mounting excitement; her shields were a little unpredictable at the moment. She hadn't quite gotten the knack yet of keeping them up without having to pay attention to them all the time, and as she was just shy of five years old, she got distracted easily.

"When do we go?" Saber asked.

"As soon as I can arrange transport to Centra," Rinoa answered, adding with a smile, "It'll be like a camping trip, only we'll be meeting daddy there instead of bringing him with us."

"Like when we went to Fisherman's Horizon that one time?" Saber said, interested.

Rinoa smiled, remembering that particular family vacation from earlier that year. Squall had flown ahead to Esthar to tend to some business in Esthar Garden, and had told Rinoa to bring the kids and meet him in FH, where they'd then fly to the Outer Islands for two weeks of camping, surfing, and general get-away-from-it-all fun. The kids had enjoyed the adventure, and Squall and Rinoa...had enjoyed each other. And Tempest had resulted. At least _this_ time, Squall was more excited and happy and less fearful. Rinoa's completely uneventful pregnancy and birth with Misty had gone a long way toward calming those particular concerns.

"Yes. And we'll all help him to find us." Rinoa answered.

"Goody!" Misty said, bouncing happily in her seat. "I'll send happy thoughts to daddy!"

Rinoa's eyes watered at this, and she had to take a quick drink of her tea before she replied, "I'm sure daddy would love that." She didn't know if Squall remembered his children yet or not, but...a rush of love from his four-year-old daughter couldn't hurt him at all.

No. Not at all.

* * *

It was difficult to get the children off to school with any hope that they'd be able to focus, and Rinoa felt rather sorry about that. But she couldn't hide what she was planning from them either. It wouldn't be fair to them, for one thing. And for another...well, she wanted the kids to be there, not only for her benefit but for Squall's as well. She felt it essential that the entire family be there for him; she knew he would need them. It left her anxious to get started with packing and planning. Taking a deep breath, she sat back down at her dining room table and pondered what she should do first.

She had just about made up her mind to speak with Quistis regarding her plans to secure time off for the kids from school, when Reive knocked on her door. For the first time in weeks, she answered the door with a smile, startling the young man.

He blinked, taken off guard at her sunny expression, then cautiously said, "Good morning?"

"Yes! Very good!" Rinoa answered, smile widening. "Come in, come in! Would you like some coffee? Or tea perhaps?"

"Uh, coffee, thanks." Reive answered, following her into the dining room with a bemused expression on his face. He studied her covertly, as was his habit of late, and found nothing to worry him. Quite the contrary, and he wondered at that.

Sitting down at Rinoa's invitation, Reive took a sip of the coffee she had handed him and asked her, "I take it you've had some good news?"

"Yes! I was finally able to reach Squall. He's doing _much_ better. We couldn't...connect with each other until recently due to his injuries." Rinoa answered.

"Is he able to tell you where he is?" Reive asked.

Rinoa sighed,"You know, I was so happy that he could finally hear me that I didn't think to ask. And that was the first thing that I _should_ have asked from him."

"Can you ask him now?" Reive asked her.

Rinoa bit her lip, then shook her head, answering hesitantly, "He's...I can only connect with him while he's sleeping...it's easier for him right now to think its a dream."

Reive frowned, "Why?"

"He's had a head injury, and has forgotten...a lot. He's remembering some things but..." Rinoa explained with a shrug.

"So, he's forgotten about the bond then?" Reive asked.

"Yes. He says that his memories _are_ coming back; he remembered _me_, at any rate. But slowly." Rinoa replied, then added. "That's why I need to have the Ragnarok recalled to take me and the kids to Centra."

Reive gave her a concerned look, asking, "do you think that's wise? I mean..." His gaze tracked down to her abdomen, then back to meet her eyes.

"It'll be fine Reive." Rinoa reassured him firmly, adding, "He's remembered our promise, so he'll meet us near the old orphanage."

"If he's still injured, it would be easier if we could bring him there rather than waiting for him to make his way to you on his own, don't you think?" Reive asked her. Then he continued, "We _are_ getting closer to finding him though. That's what I was coming to tell you. Nida got a call from a contact in DCPD. A doctor in a little village in Centra has asked for help in identifying an unknown man that was found nearly dead and now remembers virtually nothing. He provided photos and...it's him. If we can find this doctor and that little village, we'll find Squall."

Rinoa's heart leaped in her chest, and she asked breathlessly, "Where? Did he say where the village was?"

Reive frowned, "No, he didn't. But the doctor's contact information was provided. I'll see if Nida's had a chance to call him."

Rinoa nodded slightly, then took a deep breath and got to her feet, asking, "Are you finished with your coffee Reive?" At his nod, she said, "Good. Let's go. I need to talk to both Nida and Quistis."

"Both?" He asked.

"Yes, both. Quistis is Headmaster now, so I've got to let her know the kids will not be in class for awhile and Nida, well, you know why. He needs to recall the Ragnarok." Rinoa said, heading for the door.

"All right. We need to talk to Nida in any case, to get the details of that call he got." Reive said, following her. "I'm assuming you'll want to leave as soon as possible?"

"Yes." Rinoa said firmly. She opened the door, determination evident in her posture.

Glancing back, she said, "Come on Reive."

"All right." Reive said, following her.

He was pretty certain, based on what he'd learned of her personality over the last few weeks, that chances were pretty high that they'd be flying out to Centra by that evening, Taking into account the amount of time it would take to fly it back to Garden from wherever it currently was, the loading and preparation process as Rinoa and her children boarded the airship, and then the travel time back to Centra.

* * *

Reive found it difficult to keep pace with an energized Rinoa; a fact that heartened him somewhat. The last few weeks had been difficult for everyone concerned, but it weighed most heavily upon her. He understood her need to keep a strong, calming mien for the sake of her children, and further, for those who knew and cared for both her and Squall. It shouldn't have surprised him at all that the man should be missed; he'd been Balamb Garden's Commander for over ten years now, a virtually unheard of fact. And despite the fact that as Commander he was largely confined to Balamb, there _were_ rare occasions where he...and most of the time, Rinoa...were sent out on assignment. Anyone who thought that they'd lost any whit of their skill or expertise was very soon disabused of that notion after seeing the two of them in action. Particularly as they tended to get the most difficult of assignments. For _them_ to be involved usually meant that all other options had failed.

Losing Squall, even temporarily, had dealt Garden a devastating blow; the SeeDs and the cadets all shared a collective anxiety that each announcement that went out over the P.A. system would be the one they'd least want to hear. Sitting at lunch in the cafeteria, he'd seen everyone present visibly stiffen and brace themselves every time Nida made an announcement, regardless of how innocuous it ended up being.

In spite of his admittedly hopeless crush on Rinoa (which he rather suspected that she was aware of and too kindly to mention or encourage), he could only feel both happy and relieved for her sake that she'd heard from Squall via their mental link.

So he followed her quick strides to the lift, which she took to the office floor. Upon exiting, she paused in the main hallway, momentarily undecided. Her gaze strayed to the door to Squall's office, and lingered there. It was closed and locked; Xu and Quistis could gain entrance there to retrieve anything that they needed, but neither they nor Nida, who was currently acting commander, would actually use the office. She took a deep breath and swallowed, apparently making a decision, and headed toward the lift that led to the flying bridge, Nida's likeliest location.

He looked up from one of the data screens that now resided on the bridge as the sound of the lift alerted him to their arrival. Over the years, Balamb Garden had, of necessity, been upgraded and modified as it had aged and needs had changed, and these new data screens were an addition that made Nida's job as Chief Engineer much easier and less labor intensive than it had been. The flying bridge now looked more like the nerve center it actually was than the bare-bones means of directing the base that it had once been.

"Rinoa," he greeted her warmly, crossing the bridge to the lift to take both of her hands and squeeze them gently. "I was just going to call you. I take it Reive her gave you his morning's report?"

Rinoa smiled up at him, and laughed at his start of surprise and shock at her obvious joy. She'd always liked Nida, and had been genuinely happy for he and Quistis when they'd finally married. Now in his mid-thirties, he was still handsome and athletic, though time was starting to add silver to his black hair. While Squall was also beginning to sport some silver, it wasn't much, and it was really the only evidence that time had any effect on _him_ at all. Aside from that minor telltale, he still appeared to be in his twenties, rather than his early thirties and Rinoa...looked virtually the same as she had fifteen years ago. No one had yet noticed, and Rinoa hoped that by the time anyone did, it wouldn't matter. She was the sorceress of Time. That was the power that had come to her through Ultimecia and Adel, and as a sorceress, she was immortal. Time, and age, could not touch her, and as her knight, it would touch Squall only lightly, keeping him strong and slowing the evidence of age, so that he could protect her. It was a part of their bond; she had learned this from Edea, who had been a sorceress for so long that even she could not (or would not) tell anyone exactly how old she was. Until she'd released the bulk of her power to Rinoa, she had still looked to be in her mid to late twenties. She'd only started aging after she'd given her power over to Rinoa. She now appeared to be in her mid-forties, though she was still beautiful.

Right now however, her only thought was how happy she was to report that she had in fact heard from Squall, and to request that Nida recall the Ragnarok to take her and the kids to Centra.

"I've heard the report Nida," She answered. "And I have one for you as well. I've finally been able to connect with Squall. He's...doing better, but he was pretty seriously injured."

Nida's eyebrows raised, and he asked, "Did he tell you where he was?" He watched her keenly, light hazel eyes suddenly putting her in mind of a raptor preparing to stoop.

Rinoa swallowed and dropped her eyes for a moment before answering, "No. I...I was just so happy to...to... _connect_ with him, even if it was just through the bond...I didn't think to ask."

Nida's expression softened and he said gently, "I understand. We _are_ getting close to finding him though. I just got a report from DCPD that a doctor had told them about a John Doe he'd been caring for and was searching for his family. I got the man's contact information and tried to call him but didn't get an answer. I'll try again tomorrow..."

"I need you to recall the Ragnarok." Rinoa said urgently, interrupting him.

Nida frowned, "Why?"

"I want to go to Centra. I want to be there when he's found. Me and our kids." She answered firmly.

"Rinoa..."

"Please, Nida. I _need_ to be there."

"Rinoa, it's dangerous. Far more dangerous than you realize." He warned her, his suddenly stern expression not hiding his concern.

"I'll be fine." Rinoa countered calmly. Nida's response was a wordless glance at her swelling belly, then back at her, eyebrows raised.

"Really?" he asked her flatly.

"Yes." Rinoa insisted. "I HAVE to be there for him Nida. I can help, I know I can. And..." her voice faltered and she bit her lip, fighting a sudden wash of tears that blurred her vision. Finally, she finished in a thin whisper "If I go there, we'll find each other..."

"Go where, Rinoa?" Nida asked her softly.

"You know where Nida." she replied.

Nida studied her in silence, frowning slightly as he puzzled out her reply, then he said slowly, "Yes. I believe I do," Without another word, he turned away and approached the comms center, punching in a code upon reaching it, and picking up a headset and microphone unit.

Placing it on his head, he listened intently for a few moments, before finally saying, "Ragnarok, this is acting Commander Nida. You are hereby recalled back to Balamb immediately."

"Copy that Nida, I'll recall the trackers and head out as soon as we get everyone together." came the radio's response. "Is there an emergency sir?"

"Negative. Team rotation and R & R for your guys. That's all." Nida answered briskly.

"Thanks. We could use it. Any news?"

"Yes. There will be a full briefing upon your arrival." Nida answered, signing off with a short, "See you guys soon. Nida out."

Removing the headset, he placed it back on the desk next to the communications array, and turned back to Rinoa.

"They'll be here in about two hours. You'd better start packing." he told her.

Rinoa flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly, whispering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you... " then she pulled back and smiled at him through damp eyes, adding. "I'm already packed."

* * *

Author's Note: This one took a long time to write, mainly because I had to completely switch out my word processing program from Word to yWriter5...Word quit working on me, and I didn't much like Microsoft's hard-sell tactic of essentially FORCING me to buy the full version of Office in order to reactivate it. SO I figuratively told Microsoft to Suck It and got another program to use. So I've had to upload all of my in progress stories to this new program, then start working on them while getting used to the new environment and how it worked. So far, I really love it. One drawback though is that I can't upload docs directly to ffnet, instead I have to copy and paste, which is terribly cumbersome and time consuming. NOT impossible however, as this chapter is perfect evidence of. So, here's my latest chapter of this story, with more to come from my other in progress works. Back in the saddle again...


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